


Whats in a Name?

by Queerdinary



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: 'holiday' fluff, Accidental Plot, Angst with a Happy Ending, Conflict resolution skills, Cuddle puddle and group bonding, Dark rangers, Dorks, Exhibitionism, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Glove Kink, Hella banter, I guess its a marriage AU now?, I guess????, Jaina daddy dom vibes, Light BDSM, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Self-Indulgent, Strap-Ons, Useless Lesbians, canon? i don't know her, combat related gore, found family simping, let them be happy, lots of feelings, magical and otherwise, no one dies, s&m but does it count if its because you're a gay disaster for your wife?, soft lesbians, suddenly 20k+ words... I'm in trouble.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 76,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23380282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queerdinary/pseuds/Queerdinary
Relationships: Jaina Proudmoore/Sylvanas Windrunner
Comments: 131
Kudos: 518





	1. Chapter 1

The sweat hadn't quite cooled along the column of Jaina's spine as she ran her fingers down it. Delicate skimming gestures, a striking contrast to the darkening marks of passion she'd left along the soft skin of shoulders and thighs. Jaina sighed, a warm and familiar sound. For a sickening moment, Sylvanas felt a crushing sense of vertigo.  
  
 _Is this how it had happened in Lorderan- or was it Dalaran-- Quel'Thalas?_  
  
She couldn't remember.

  
It made her grimace, and she was glad that Jaina, with her face buried in her neck, couldn't see the twisted expression. She made a conscious effort to gentle the hold she had of her lover's hip, made sure that her grip was soft...but she refused to yield, to let go yet. Not now. How many times had she reached for the mage too forcefully, clumsy with haste and ferocity, only to be rebuffed? She pressed her lips to the crown of white hair, dizzy with a half remembered kiss- _was it in the summer sun, or a spring shower, our first time- Your hair- it was still golden then, wasn't it ? Golden like honey and amber and you were so young-_ I _was so young_.  
  
She wanted to remember. More than she had wanted to stay dead, that first time.  
  
She assumed that any moment now, Jaina would curse at her, would stand up and slide back into her clothes. She would say something brutal- that this had been a mistake, that she was disgusted. She would go to the Alliance, expose some weakness she'd discovered. But at least Sylvanas had this, this one last time. Jaina stirred, and Sylvanas steeled herself, letting her hands fall away.  
  
  
Jaina pressed her lips against Sylvanas's jaw, her breath hot in her ear.  
“What, worn out already? So much for the mighty Warcheif.”

  
Sylvanas couldn't help her smile, her indulgence, the way her chest clenched around the old puckered scar in a way that was so close to pain- but not quiet. Her fingers tripped up Jaina's side. Counting ribs and new scars. She tried not to sound eager.  
  
“Not quite.” She rolled her hips, relishing in the utterly ruined sound that spilled from Jaina. From her lover, again. _Finally, Belore, finally mine again_. “But, here I'm...”  
  
She didn't know how to voice what she wanted.. Not to be the Warchief? _No_... She...She wanted Jaina's apprentice robes hiked up over her ranger leathers, the salt of the sweat along the line of Jaina's neck as she moaned for her and the smell of the hay, fresh cut on the breeze from Windrunner village. _What folly..._ That she could touch again should have been enough. And now she was brooding. Typical.  
  
Jaina twisted, rising and looping her arms around Sylvanas's neck, pushing her into the mattress of the narrow cot. Her hair hung down in a silvered a curtain around them, the pulse of arcane luminous in her eyes. _Eyes_ _like starlight._  
It seemed a fitting irony _. When I lived she was the sun, and now that I'm dead, the moon.  
  
_ “Here? I'm here too,” Jaina encouraged, slotting their legs together just so, “Tell me , what do you want?”  
  
Sylvanas swallowed, a needless gesture, another show of weakness that Jaina should have take advantage of. She had followed Sylvanas's notes, a series of tiresome ciphers, riddle games for months to string along interest, to build a rapport. Jaina had agreed to meet after all- she was cunning. She would know how to act, when to strike.

She didn't.

Instead, Jaina kissed Sylvanas's brow, her eyelids, the bridge of her nose, mouthed the edge of her jaw. Sylvanas bit back a groan as Jaina rolled her body against hers in a way that was truly fitting for a daughter of the tides. In lieu of a response, Sylvanas slid her hands over Jaina's waist, her back, her sides, cupped her breasts. She drank down the groan of approval, hooking their legs and rolling them again in the confined space, relishing the feeling of Jaina beneath her.  
  
And then, suddenly, she hated this- this cheap room, this narrow bed, the inn that smelled like sour ale and the muffled sound of the tavern below filtering in through the warding spell. The rasp of rough cotton and the clinking of flagons on sticky, poorly varnished wood. It made her ears pin back. _It should be silk, I should have ravished her on silk- Sarumarian silk, she should be on my arm with my token displayed on her breast, dripping with the prestige worthy of an arch mage of her skill. We should be in Dalaran- the grand ballroom. We danced there once, didn't we? She loved to dance--we shouldn't be stealing away like criminals hidden in a cheap run down-  
  
_ “Hey,” Jaina cupped her chin, drawing her back, forcing Sylvanas to meet her gaze, “Where did you go?”

Sylvanas couldn't bear her expression, it felt too... too something. She let her head drop, and kissed the valley between the rise of Jaina's breasts. The fierce, desperate energy when they'd first stumbled into the room faded as the mage slowly carded fingers through her hair. Sylvanas wondered if Jaina thought it was brittle now, compared to how it must have been...before.  
Before so, so much.

  
“I'm here too.” Sylvanas echoed by way of an answer. Despite her damnedest intentions, she was. She kissed Jaina's skin again, trying to commit what taste she could to memory. “I'm here.”  
  
Jaina's fingers clenched, a sharp pull against her scalp, that even her death-dulled senses registered as rough. “Yes, yes you are. You are.”  
She drew her knees up on either side of Sylvanas's narrow hips. Keeping close. Her throat struggled with words, and Sylvanas pressed her lips there too, as if she could ease the slide of them out of Jaina's mouth. “I... I've...” a rough swallow, “I have missed you.”  
  
Sylvanas's stomach tightened, an unpleasant churning sensation that shunted aside the warmth of their recent coupling. _Which me have you missed?_ She felt greedy and foolish for thinking it at all. As if it might have mattered. That Jaina had deigned to meet her at all, had allowed her touch, had fallen for her fumbling seduction. _What does it matter? She's with a dead woman either way._ Jaina's legs pressed in against her flanks, misreading Sylvanas's slower pace.

Jaina's voice trembled, fragile in the stale air, “If... If you don't want this I-”  
“-No.”  
Sylvanas cut her off, kissing her firmly, soundly, doing the best to banish the notion. This was a thousand times better than sniping, than snide remarks over the war table. Banter and bating, and begrudging acknowledgment couldn't hold a candle to this . She surged against her, earning another sweet, breathless moan as Jaina pulled back, gasping. She wanted this, absolutely did.

  
Sylvanas wasn't satisfied yet. Not by any standard of measurement. She parted and held Jainas legs wide with her knees and pinned her arms above her head with her own. She wanted Jaina a mess under her, open and willing and needy and – and... she wanted the memory of something more gentle. She seemed so incapable of that now, as she strong armed her lover against the sheets and devoured her whine of desire mingling with pain. She hoped Jaina wasn't keeping a ledger, wasn't comparing their past encounters on a scoreboard that she couldn't see. That she wasn't being measured and found wanting.

When they next parted Jaina was panting. She tried to catch Sylvanas in another kiss, but it was not permitted. Jaina's voice was husky, heavy with sex and something... something Sylvanas couldn't name.

  
“ If you want this-” She tried in vain to kiss her again, to free her hands, “Then why won't you let me touch you?”  
  
Sylvanas paused.  
  
That she should please Jaina had seemed a given- the expectation, the reason for the engagement. That Jaina had entertained and enjoyed the experiment, was an unearned blessing from Belore herself. That Jaina wanted to return such gestures... It hadn't figured into her calculations.  
  
“You... you still -”  
  
Jaina's lip curled into something that wasn't a smile. Something too desperate and lost for that word.

“-Still? I never stopped.”  
  


Sylvanas's grip slackened in her surprise, and Jaina was able to catch her mouth, to sink her blunt human teeth into her lower lip. Her hands won free, and short nails scratched down Sylvanas's neck, along her broad shoulders. Jaina didn't try to force herself on top, she simply wrapped herself around Sylvanas, as if she were the ocean and Sylvanas were a sinking ship.  
  
“I don't care if you're the Warchief here-” Jaina's voice was a harsh whisper along the shell of her ear. Sylvanas braced herself as Jaina continued to move against her, coaxing her body to an unasked for peak, “or if you're the Ranger General, or the officer I met the first time-”  
  


Sylvanas cut her off, another kiss another groan, anything to stop the flow of words she wasn't sure how to process. Jaina was nothing if not determined, thorough- _a scholar_ , and her hands were everywhere, touching Sylvanas as if she knew how- _she does know how, she_ remembers _and I_ -  
  
“I don't care. I don't care-” Jaina husked, muffled and broken against Sylvanas's throat as she slid her fingers home, “If you want me to call you my Warchief I will. Call you my Queen? You always have been.”  
  
Sylvanas was panting, gripping the coarse sheets fighting for breaths she didn't need. She was going to say something stupid any moment now, going to make some undignified sound, _and all it took was an alliance mage with a pretty face to be two fingers knuckle deep?_ No, _not_ some mage _, Jaina._ Jaina who's fingers crooked then with just the right force- Sylvanas whined, and bit down hard on Jaina's shoulder to stifle such a pathetic sound. She felt her hips flex, rocking down to ride, matching Jaina's exacting rhythm.  
  
“That's it,” Jaina said harshly, her voice strained with exertion and no small amount of feeling, “...that's it pretty girl...”

Her free hand slid around Sylvanas's throat for a moment before settling on her chest and pushing back. “Sit up, sit up and let me see you.”  
  
Unexpectedly, Sylvanas found herself complying, caught in whatever spell Jaina was describing with the fingers flexing expertly inside her. She should have flinched from Jaina's touch skating down the ragged path of scar tissue, but she didn't. She should have found somewhere else to stare, other than the raw, hungry expression on Jaina's face.  
  
“Ride me,” Jaina whispered, her voice velvet in the darkened room, her blush staining her face like good Kalimidore wine, “ I know you can, I'll make it so good for you.”  
  


Sylvanas bit down too hard on her own lip, unable to stop the motion of her hips, the rise of her legs. She was rewarded immediately buy a spark- a buzzing vibration along the tip of Jaina's fingers and an even more sinful smile.  
“That's it, just like that. What a good girl.”  
  
Sylvanas should have laughed. Only an hour before, Jaina had been nearly sobbing beneath her and Sylvanas had whispered all manner of Thalassian filth into her ear as she'd fucked her into the mattress- hells bent on ensuring Jaina wouldn't regret being taken to bed- and now, here Sylvanas was on the verge of tears from Jaina's endearments, saccharine enough to melt her teeth. _Endearments, yes, and sex magic._ There was something to be said about that.  
  
“Touch yourself,” A suggestion that aimed for casual and landed on desperate. “Touch yourself for me. I want to see you.”

Sylvanas did.  
  
“Tides,” Jaina gasped as Sylvanas's knees shifted finding better purchase near Jaina's core and, she felt how wet Jaina really was. That this interest wasn't an act for Sylvanas made something hot and fluttery and terribly alive settle in the cradle of her hips.

“You're so, so pretty.”  
  
She rose, and came down on Jaina's hand again, and that spark that delicious buzzing was paired with the stretch of a third finger and she couldn't stop her head from falling back. Couldn't stop the shuddering hitch of a useless breath. She was trying to remember something, something soft, something stupid and silly like flower chains and whispered first kisses in warm sea spray.  
  
Jaina folded up around her then, keeping her in her lap and urging the cant of her hips to a faster pace.

“Yes,” Jaina hissed, kissing her throat, her voice thrumming through Sylvanas, “ That's it, almost, almost there,” Sylvanas was aware- painfully aware, of every inch of their bodies pressed against each other; of Jaina's sweat on her skin, the dreadfully loud pounding of Jaina's heart like a wardrum in her skull, the scent of her magic heavy on her tongue. “That's my girl.”  
  
Sylvanas raked her fingers down Jaina's back where only moments before she'd tried so valiantly to be gentle. She brought herself down hard again, and was rewarded with another pulse of arcane that sent her reeling and drunk, eager to receive again. It was like being dipped in the sunwell, like being in love.

She almost didn't recognize her own voice as she nearly pleaded, “Say- say it again.”  
  
“I don't care if-”  
  
“No,” she gasped, closing her eyes against a wave of pleasure so keen it pierced her gut like a knife, “ no, the part where-”  
“-my girl.” Jaina exhaled, running her tongue along the cartilage of an ear.

  
Sylvanas shuddered, nodding, her voice small, needy. _Hers_. “Yes.”

  
“My pretty girl,” Jaina redoubled her efforts, her free hand bracing Sylvanas's back as she arched, “My pretty, pretty, Sylvie.”  
  
Something inside of her burst, hot and bright and so terribly good, that she thought her heart must have tried to beat. Yes, that's what she'd wanted. A stupid pet name, half forgotten, and condescending enough to earn a snapped neck... but on Jaina's lips...  
  
“Say it again-”  
  
Jaina did.

She said it again, and again, until Sylvanas was a spent, quaking mess, trembling in her lap.

Gradually, the soft flood of murmured praise blended into a hum of sound in Sylvanas's head. She couldn't seem focus on the individual words. Her head tucked under Jaina's chin; braced against her frame and the dingy headboard. She was light headed, listening to the throb of Jaina's heart and still high on the mana pushed through her. Sylvanas could still feel the pulse of arcane from Jaina's fingers inside of her. Mana bleeding out of her like a cup spilling over...she couldn't believe how weak her limbs were. How easy it would be now, for someone to strike. She couldn't remember ever being so vulnerable.

  
 _Had it always felt like this?_  
  
Jaina soothed a hand along her back. “...I missed you.”  
Sylvanas blinked lazily, and couldn't help the sharp side of her tongue. “You should miss me more often.”  
Jaina sorted, “Is that an invitation, or an indictment?”  
  
Sylvanas pulled back, just enough to see her face. Her own voice was grave now. “You are under no obligation to-”  
  
“You're so- guh, obligation-”  
  
Then she was flat on her back, a very impassioned Jaina staring daggers into her.  
“Listen, you stubborn wretch, I....”  
Nose to nose, and still disbelieving the litany of affirmation, Sylvanas counted Jaina's freckles. Gifts from the sun, small blessings of fortune. She'd always thought Jaina to be beautiful. Surpassingly so. Anger only furthered that in her opinion.  
  
“-You' re still not listening.” Jaina poked her chest, “I meant every word I said.”  
  
Sylvanas didn't believe it.  
  
“You don't believe me,” Jaina's fingers curled in Sylvanas's loose hair, “ I'll scream it from Stormwind's battlements if I must, but I'd rather start here, with us.”  
  
Incredulous, Sylvanas deadpanned, “ Here. In a cheap, dive tavern?”  
  
“Yes.”  
Something bright flashed in Jaina's eyes. “If you'd like me to go down there, now, like this, I will.” She gestured to herself, and Sylvanas couldn't help the stupid, brash laugh that escaped her.  
“You look like a dock whore.”  
“Not a dock whore, your whore.” Jaina joked, but her tone belied a razors edge. “It doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to.” She cupped Sylvanas's cheek, “I'm just happy to hold you.”

She was going to do something stupid now. Something like cry, or confess that she still pressed Jaina's favorite flowers into books in what was left of Lorderan's library.

“Happy here, in this shit-hole inn?” The words felt wrong and crass but she couldn't take them back.  
Jaina nodded. The corner of her mouth tilting up in away that warned of trouble.

“When we get back home, I'm having you deloused. This place is filthy.”  
Jaina's smile widened, a sabercat's grin. “ We? Home?”  
Sylvanas groaned, and Jaina kissed her again.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaina's a disaster gay. Big Mood *tm* just trying to vibe. Fair warnings, this is a *lot* of feelings for a sex piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about that update! I had meant to save it as a draft, and then to my horror, realized I had published something VERY unedited and my soul left my body from embarrassment. Now at least it should be readable. Anyway... uhm, this got kind of out of hand.

Jaina held the small, cracked remains of a hearthstone in her hand.  
  


She didn't know what to expect today. She had been drawn out, there was no way around it. _Hunted?_ Hunted might have been too strong a word. _Or too accurate_.

The first letter Jaina received had been curious. Innocuous; neither hostile nor friendly, just... strange. A half riddle. Jaina had parsed it, and sent a short reply asking the reason for the communication. No clear answer had been forthcoming, only more strange notes. Obscure references to past events, shared experiences and ciphers in dialects that had Jaina reaching for old language primers she hadn't needed in years. Next had been the poetry, coded too. _Of course_. Jaina wasn't clear if that had been for her benefit or the consternation of potential spymasters. The first round of poems, an easy alpha numeric, had been a trifling effort. It was only after Jaina started to copy out the code, did she discover it was Orcish. And when she realized, and made appropriate changes to allow for conventions, it become clear that each letter was a double cypher in itself. Something like delight and admiration had ignited in Jaina's stomach. Butterflies and lightning bugs. When she'd written back demonstrating mastery of the code, asking for answers, the correspondence had simply transitioned into gutterspeak.

That had taken weeks for Jaina to grasp; for her to master basic grammar. She'd labored over strings of unintelligible syllables before she realized it really amounted to nothing- it was all gibberish- nothing grammatical at all. Her pride wouldn't let her admit defeat, or ask for reference, but still, more letters of the same came. One evening, in a fit of blind consternation Jaina had been muttering a phrase under her breath- pacing her study when the sound of her own voice made her step hitch. _Clever- viciously clever_. The current lot of letters were neither riddles, nor codes. Just phonetic transcriptions. Not gutterspeak- not truly. Thalassian. _Thalassian sonnets_.

She'd been so terribly flattered. She did not want to call it something akin to being courted. _Being flattered was better._

  
Jaina had penned correspondence immediately, doing her best to translate from her third language into her what- _sixth?_ For a while nothing came, and the anxiety their absence caused unsettled her. And then, no more poems; _Prayers_. Old ones, from long before the loss of the Sunwell. Devotionals to the sun. Archaic. Explicit. Unexpected. _Unexpected? The whole chain of letters was unexpected_. This wasn't the Sylvanas that Jaina had grown to understand and anticipate at the war table; the brutal new warchief, snide and insidious- inciting each faction to violence. No, this was sweet. Earnest and without the bold trademark swagger. Self conscious even, as the letters shifted to reveal a desire to meet in person. Repetition of the line, ' _Alar'belore, O'anar'a_ '- not as a command but as an entreaty.  
Eventually, Jaina had answered in the affirmative.

Then nothing. Again. Jaina hated the roiling worry in her gut, hated the anticipation, hated herself. For being predictable. Showing her hand too early. For being taken in, taken advantage of for her hope, for holding on to a memory of something- Jaina's mouth pursed in a cynical smile- _To the memory of_ someone _dead_.

But that wasn't exactly accurate. _Or too accurate_. Jaina frowned once more, and she turned the stone over in her fingers. Sylvanas had insisted that it possessed enough place memory for Jaina to weave a portal with minimal difficulty. She tugged up the stiff collar of her coat against the Kul'Tarin chill, and began to do just that.

Their reunion- _tryst, affair?_ \- had been cut short. Brief, heated words with a Dark Ranger through the keyhole had torn Sylvanas away from the bed. Curses for being disobeyed, for being followed and interrupted. Jaina, for her part, had been surprisingly indifferent to being found out. _I had offered to declare my weakness publicly. What was one painfully loyal soldier in the face of that?_ Naga moving inland it turned out; skirmishes, and loss of life had prompted Anya to disturb her Lady. _Perhaps the end of the world._ Again. _The closer Azeroth seems to peace, the closer it is to the fire of war._ They'd dressed quickly after that, wordlessly helping each other with laces and buckles. Lingering longer than necessary. Sylvans had reached into her belt pouch and pressed the little stone into Jaina's palm.

“Meet me at noon, one month from now.” She'd held Jaina's fingers lightly, as if they'd been made of spun sugar as she amended, “If you wish.” Then she exited, in a flourish of horde red and leathers before Jaina could answer.

In front of her now, the portal stabilized.

It was dim and cold on the other side, a crumbling landing. A staircase with a door, illuminated only through cracks in the masonry and a subdued glow from beneath the frame. It was deserted... but Jaina didn't think it was a trap. _If Sylvanas wanted me dead, I've certainly given her the opportunity already ._ The memory of the particular opportunity made her blush violently. When nothing immediately screamed danger , she ventured through. First one cautious step up. And another. No traps. No runes, or barriers. There wasn't even a basic ward or active defense- just an austere ruin. She knocked once on the door.  
  
“Sylvanas? It's me.”  
  
 _Tides that sounds so adolescent. '_ Its me' _. Grow up._

The door swung in, soundless on its hinges, incongruous to the disrepair. _The drama of it must appeal to her._ Jaina paused before entering. She could have cast mage light, could have hurled a fire ball right into the closed quarters and called the whole endeavor a waste of time and saved face. She didn't. The room, like the hallway behind her, was dark. But here at least it was warm, and it smelled fresh- nearly floral with ceder, varnish and steam. The cast of the darkness inside was almost rich, a warm red, and as her eyes adjusted she could make out vague shapes in a muted flickering light. Furniture? A silhouette. _Her_. Jaina's Admiralty great coat was suddenly oppressive, and she toyed with the stiff embroidery around a button. A nervous tick that she schooled immediately. _Smooth._ She didn't comment as the shadow broke away, and addressed her.

“So it is you. Alone?”  
  
Jaina held out her hand in the dimness, palm up, the token on display. “Alone.”  
  


Statuesque and impassive, Sylvanas flicked her eyes over Jaina. She nodded once, and stepped passed her to close the door. “Keep that.”  
Jaina wished for more light, to read the minutia of Sylvanas's expression, but she doubted it would have made much difference. She slipped the stone into her pocket. The door latched behind her, followed by the slow slide of a lock snicking into place. Jaina was quickly growing too hot underneath the layers of thick wool, and she told herself that was the reason her ears were burning. Sylvanas brushed by again, and Jaina heard her steps on the floor- _Skin on stone? Is she barefoot_? She couldn't say why, but it made her chest clench. The idea of the arch of someone's foot shouldn't have been heartrending. Jaina swallowed.  
  
“You oughtn't lurk in doorways,” Sylvanas called, her profile stark as she disappeared beyond a curve of the wall, “ 'Danger marks the lintels' isn't that the saying?”  
  
Jaina made a non committal sound, stepping forward. A sudden clink of shifting metal almost made her reach for a weapon, and then fire light flared and the room was brought into soft focus. The chamber was sparse and elegant, and the sweep of the ceiling spoke of elven architecture. Heavy curtains fronted the south wall, likely a window , and more drapery flanked the wall off to the east. The reflective surface of the polished floor made it hard for Jaina to guess the stone's origin... and harder still to ignore the massive tub that was the focus of the room. Enamel and copper with elaborate feet and a sweeping back, orange and pink in the light. Jaina shifted her gaze to Sylvanas, lit dramatically by the fire as she maneuvered a large burnished pot free from the heat and towards the bath.

  
 _It should be criminal for someone look that good, barefoot, in rough linen and black canvas pants_. And then she remembered that this was _Sylvanas_ , Sylvanas who had loved well oiled leathers and homespun linen as much as silk and lapis, crowns of spring flowers as much as silver.... _Or, had, at some point._

  
Sylvanas effortlessly emptied the water and set the vessel aside. Jaina did not watch the line of her shoulders, or curve of her hip, “ As you can see, I've just finished. Your arrival was well timed.”

Sylvanas's eyes lingered a silent moment. Then she padded forward, near soundless, and reached slowly for the strap of Jaina's coat. “Here, I'll help you out of that.” She said it, but as she gripped the buckle she paused. Waiting. She added dryly, “Unless you'd rather go in like this.”  
  
Jaina's gaze flitted between the tub, and Sylvanas's carefully neutral features, her long narrow fingers curled around the leather strap. And back along the circuit again. Jaina blinked. The implication finally caught her. _Gods of the deep and little fishes._ Distressingly intimate. Jaina had anticipated an awkward fumbling conversation, a denial or a fantasy, togetherness- or more rough sex not- _oh_.

 _'When we get home,_ _I'm having you deloused_ '. Jaina snorted. Her eyes had always closed when she genuinely laughed, and she gripped Sylvanas's elbows for support . She laughed, she couldn't help it. “You - serious- ” The idea of Sylvanas with a lice comb struck her as the height of comedy.

At least it did, until Jaina opened her eyes to find long brows furrowed. A frown, ears flattened.  
Jaina's smile fell away, and she was quick to fumble for words.

“I'm sorry, I-” She hoped Sylvanas wouldn't take it as a refusal, or worse, mockery.“Not you- Not laughing at you...”  
  
She trailed off, as Sylvanas eyebrows lifted and her head tilted slightly. “Did you always laugh like that?”  
  
Jaina held, unmoving as Sylvanas undid the great buckle to her coat, and the few fastenings that kept it over her shoulders. Jaina's mind was suddenly a disaster area, a landscape of a dozen other times and ways Sylvanas had been close, had undressed her before they had...Her mouth was suddenly dry. _You're not a green sailor_. She could keep her wits while a pretty woman took her coat off. Probably. “Like what?”  
  
Sylvanas discarded the heavy garment, and held Jaina's chin. Just her fingertips, as if Jaina's skin burned her. “...Like you're about to weep.”  
  
Jaina couldn't look at her then. She stared at her polished boots and Sylvanas's toes instead. The moment stretched and lingered. _A hanged man on the end of a rope._ Jaina decided that she would have to be the one to bolster their mood, to keep Sylvanas from retreating into familiar melancholy... _Otherwise, we'll drown in pathos_. She squared her shoulders.

“Most likely-” She brought her eyes back up, “ Though people usually accuse me of snorting like a pig. Your appraisal is far more poetic.”

Sylvanas's nostrils flared, a short exhale as good as a chuckle, and she dropped Jaina's chin.  
“I see. Well,” She moved back, “If you'll undress.” She hefted the large pot, and strode away to stoke the fire.

Jaina eyed the tub, and she felt horribly self conscious once more. Small and needy, and childish and not arguably the strongest mage on the face of Azeroth... She turned away. She unlaced her boots mechanically, and then her corset. _Not so fast._ Her fingers shook. She shouldn't have been so nervous. _She's seen you, fucked you, you're not her bashful bride._ The thought made her spine stiffen. More light and warmth leached into the chamber from the hearth, and Jaina could see now that her initial appraisal of the room had been accurate. Sparse, elegant and expensive. She was stepping out of the puddle of her skirt, dressed only in her shift, when she felt Sylvanas's breath on the back of her neck. It was cooler than anticipated, but that was not the reason she shivered.

“Hands up.” Gentle pressure, hands gathering the fabric at her hips.  
“I assure you I'm unarmed,” Jaina murmured with a grin as she lifted her arms.  
  


Sylvanas drew the shift off over her head, and it joined the other clothes on the stone.“And yet you still manage to wound, how clever.”

  
“ Again, I've been called worse,” Jaina was going to step towards the tub when she felt Sylvanas begin to undo her braid. She thought she could hear the clench of Sylvanas's jaw, the grind of teeth. In their brief conversation before they'd stumbled up to the room in the inn, Sylvanas had spoken slowly too. As if she needed to plan each syllable like a battle. Jaina didn't rush her.

“...You like vetiver and jasmine...”  
She heard the statement for the question it was and nodded.

“Good, I have that, and goat's milk soap. You will tell me if I'm too rough.”  
  
Jaina snuck a glance over her shoulder, “You don't have to.”  
“No, I don't have to.” Sylvanas affirmed, untangling a curl, “But... washing your hair was something I used to enjoy.”

“Used to?”

“It's reasonable to assume I still will,” Sylvanas's tone was hasty, as if she were back tracking as she fanned Jaina's long hair down her spine, “But I'd rather be sure.”

“Then by all means.” Jaina turned in her arms, ignoring how completely naked she was. “Who am I to stand in the way of research?”  
  
When Sylvanas didn't respond right away, Jaina kissed her cheek, and tucked a strand of ashy blond back into place. Sometimes, Jaina forgot that they were the same height. That her own hips were wider, that Sylvanas could sometimes seem impossibly small, for all she was a giant on the field of war. _A trick of charisma_. She let her hands rest on Sylvanas's shoulders, and pressed herself up against her chest. When she wasn't stopped, Jaina placed another kiss to her jaw, fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt. She wanted to be clear with her interest, that much at least wouldn't be frightening. Overwhelming. _Wouldn't frighten her away._ A moment later, firm hands held her waist.  
  
“Ah-ah.” Sylvanas sounded amused, the words playful against Jaina's mouth.

Jaina pretended to pout, but let Sylvanas turn her round and guide her. She didn't make Jaina feel like a possession, or a piece of meat, something bought at auction. If anything Sylvanas was over attentive, too gentle as she offered her hand for support for Jaina to step over the high lip of the basin.

Sylvanas released her hand and turned to retrieve something from a discreet side table. The water was hot, heavy and smooth, like a mineral water from a fresh spring. Jaina sunk into it. She couldn't remember the last time she'd allowed herself the luxury of a bath that wasn't entirely utilitarian. She crossed her legs, her knee hardly breaking the surface as she draped her arms over the edge, heedless of how her hair trailed in the water and spilled out over onto the floor. She sighed.

When Sylvanas turned round, her ears shot straight up; one hand clutching a bar of soap, the other fisted in a washcloth.

Jaina felt suddenly powerful. The way Sylvanas looked at her; eyes dilated, lips slightly parted... Being wanted was a heady thing, _and being desired by somebody who lo_ -. Guilt followed arousal like a sucker punch. Guilt and self-censure stronger than three fingers of rye. _Guilty is how you should feel_. _You didn't persist after the fall, when you knew she was raised- and after, you never pressed, never wrote- didn't fight for her- you fought_ against _her. And even now you haven't asked her what she wants from this. You don't know if she-_ Jaina closed her eyes. Let her head sink under, her nose just above the water.

“Up.”  
The words muffled from an ocean away called her to sit. She eased up, eyes still closed and leant up over her knees. She felt Sylvanas begin to work soap into her hair. Jaina kept waiting for Sylvanas to start a conversation. To start from the stump of conversation they'd managed last time, or to say something cruel, anachronistic, or out of place. Perhaps to make a cunning remark like she had in passing on every other occasion. She didn't. She just kept scrubbing, rhythmic methodical motions, until Jaina felt drowsy. The smell of the bath oils and the soap, and the warm reds of the room...Jaina felt safe. Terribly safe.

  
She knew it was dissonant, and certainly problematic that the same hands massaging her scalp had slaughtered people. Soldiers she would have counted among those she was sworn to protect. By that same admission, Jaina was as much a weapon. Had as much blood on her hands. But with her eyes closed.. it was almost. _Almost early spring in Eversong woods, hunting for wild fiddle-head ferns, losing hide and seek against her indulgent ranger_... Jaina pressed her face into her knees. Sylvanas, the grey eyed ranger, her general, was dead. And, she admitted, so was the golden haired apprentice who'd loved her. _What was that rhyme?_ She'd heard a Tide sage mutter it once... S _omething about seafoam, 'Sea Foam and Flotsam, patron saints of lost causes'..._ She leaned into the slight rasp of fingernails, and the pleasant smell of clean soap. This person, the one washing her with a gentleness she hadn't felt in years, she had grown to care for. _Again?Anew? Whichever._.. She sighed again, and the fingers stopped.  
  
Jaina peeked up to find Sylvanas staring down at her, visibly shaken. Though when she spoke, her tone was steady. “Does it feel different?”

_She means,_ _Do_ I _feel different._ A strange question for the Dark Lady to ask.  
  
“Yes.” Jaina let a beat pass, as Sylvanas's fingers crept from her hair, to frame her face. She turned, caught a finger tip in her mouth. Kissed it- callouses. An archers hands. Still her archers hands. “It's better. Are delousing so common an occasion in Ogramar that you've become an expert?”

Jaina swore she could hear Sylvanas roll her eyes as she gave her hair a halfhearted tug. Jaina nearly groaned her relief. Picking out a path, a narrow line between comfort and honesty really would be the right thing to do. _Between barbs and kisses._ In hindsight, it probably wasn't to far off from where they might have ended up if things had been... different. Sylvanas guided her head back to the brim, rinsing her hair with a deft hand, letting the run off catch in a separate bowl to spare the bathwater the suds. Jaina bit her lip in consideration. A quiet, brooding Sylvanas was a puzzle. A different problem than the one who'd written her riddles and copied out lines of ancient love poems. She was terribly pensive and focused, but then again, Sylvanas had always been like that when she'd had a task. Brutal, tactically ruthless in defense of her people. _That hasn't changed_.

Sylvanas, finished with her hair, asked “Do you know where we are?”  
“ No.”

Jaina knew it ought to bother her. It didn't. She just wanted Sylvanas to keep touching her. She wanted the gentle fingers in her hair and the weighted and weightless feeling of the warm water. Nothing much else. _No, that wasn't right_. She wanted everything, everything else. She wanted Sylvanas next to her in the mornings, and spread out beneath her at night. She wanted her boots neatly by the door, and her perfume on her pillow. Jaina shook her head to banish the thoughts.

“Take this.” Sylvanas handed over a washcloth and rose gracefully to her feet. “Maybe a little more light. The sun should be in position.”

It was such a Sylvanas thing to say. As if she'd commanded the sun herself, and it was struggling to obey. Jaina was staring up at the ceiling as the the sunlight came in. First, like a narrow blade, and then like a charging bull as the curtains were drawn all the way back. The window behind her was colored glass, at least in part. Blurred slices of amber, turquoise and dreamy rose staining the white limestone floor and throwing themselves tall against the pale yellow walls.

“...Well?”  
  
Now that she tried, Jaina could feel the hum of old arcana, a sundered lay line, old broken wards... And the room was vaguely familiar too- though in the way many elven structures were. _Highborn and the tastes that came with it_... But the angle of the winter sun through the windows, the pattern of the moldings of the arched ceiling... _Is that new?_ The plaster was new, and carefully redone, if with a lack of know how- faithful to the original model. The motif pressed in relief stirred something.... It was her turn to frown now. She did know the place.

“Did you repair the whole Spire?”

“Just the one room. So far.” Sylvanas answered casually as she returned.

_Casual._ As if the idea of the Warchief of the Horde hand plastering her ancestral home's bathing suit was a small matter. As if the statement had no implied context; as if their presence here together wasn't... Jaina suddenly needed more than being taken care of, than whatever performative act of penance Sylvanas thought she needed to do by washing her. If Sylvanas didn't want to speak, Jaina was fine with that. If all Sylvanas ever wanted to do was touch, that would be fine. She could touch. _Keep touching. Don't stop touching_.  
She reached for one of Sylvanas's arms, “When are you getting in?”  
Sylvanas cupped the back of Jaina's head with the same hand, “When my research is concluded.” She reached for the washcloth.

  
Sylvanas was smiling, but still too reverent for Jaina's taste. Still distant- gone somewhere in her mind. Jaina bit her lip, tilting her head up to raise her chest out of the water. Then without effort, she sent a skein of water up from the tub to soak Sylvanas's shirt.  
  
“ _Oh no_. Would you look at that?” Jaina deadpanned, face perfectly placid. “A rogue variable. Looks like your data will skew.”

Sylvanas glowered, the effect somewhat damned by the angle of her ears, and the persistent upwards tilt of her mouth. Indignant, annoyed, and amused. _Still irritatingly beautiful_.

So, Jaina said so. “You look cute when you're angry.”  
Sylvanas scoffed, “I'm not angry. When I'm angry, I tear people's minds asunder.”  
“Not mine.”  
“Not yet.”  
“Not cute.” Sylvanas's fingers, warmed from the heat of the room and the water, braceleted Jaina's wrists effectively pinning them to each side of the tub.  
“Fine, not angry.” Jaina granted. “ But, you do look cute like this. On your knees all wet and bothered because of me.”

She watched as a Sylvanas's mouth broke into a begrudging smile.

“It's more accurate,” Jaina insisted, but Sylvanas was already shaking her head. “Isn't accuracy what you wanted for your research?”  
“If you're finished then, I have your towel just here. Stand.”

“Join me.”

Sylvanas hesitated.  
  
It hurt, how beautiful Sylvanas still was. _Had always been_. She'd always had a feral stillness, but now poised between actions the indecision made her look so, so human. It made hunger burn in Jaina's stomach in a way it hadn't in years. To consume and protect that vulnerability- cultivate and exploit it until Sylvanas was gasping and digging fingernails into her back.  
  
“You wanted to take care of me, didn't you?” Jaina said sweetly, walking her fingers along the edge to where Sylvanas's hand lingered.  
Her lips pursed as Jaina tangled their fingers together. “A kiss. The water will be cold if you linger,” Sylvanas allowed. She drew close and leaning over Jaina she drawled, “living things seem to care about that.”  
  


Jaina made sure that it was a good kiss. Good enough that Sylvanas groaned against her mouth and dropped the washcloth. So 'good enough', that Sylvanas was off balance and Jaina pulled her in.  
  
With Sylvanas sputtering like a wet cat on top of her, Jaina laughed so hard her sides hurt. She kept her grip on Sylvanas's shirt as much to keep her there, as to ground herself. She couldn't say why she'd done it. _The world is absurd, I'm absurd_. Her perception of this woman kept changing and she didn't know what anything was supposed to mean . She didn't want any of it to go away- didn't want to feel guilt anymore. At least right then. Abruptly, Sylvanas's annoyed Thalassian broke into a harsh and then subdued smoky chuckle in her ear.  
  
“I should punish you for that.”  
“ I wish you would.” Jaina managed to pry her eyes open. “I...”

She hadn't been prepared for how good Sylvanas would look in her wet shirt. How good she looked smiling, and vaguely harassed. How stupidly pretty she looked in the light from the stained glass windows. Jaina swallowed. _She'll be the death of me_.  
  
Sylvanas misread her pause and immediately sobered. “I didn't bring you here for... this.”  
“For water sports?”  
Sylvanas's ears flicked back in annoyance.  
Jaina couldn't help but be aware of each point of contact between them, the way her wet clothes clung and draped. She shifted, letting one of Sylvanas's legs settle between her own. She didn't let her smile falter as Sylvanas's shrewd gaze tried to pry her apart.  
“I was...” Sylvanas started, then stopped. “I was right, the water is cold.” She finished lamely.  
  
Jaina raised an eyebrow. She drew a line down Sylvanas's chest, nearly chaste, and steam began to rise in lazy circles once more.  
“I'm a mage, Sylvanas.”  
Sylvanas's eyes followed her hands back to the tub, then back to Jaina's own. “Convenient.”  
Jaina nodded, and even though she'd said the same words before, she had to know, “If you really don't want to-”  
“-oh, that's just it- I _really_ do.”  
The words didn't come with the right tone though. Mournful, almost something held apart. Jaina remembered the ferocity, the hunger and urgency that Sylvanas had shown at the inn. Desperate. How she'd eaten her alive, then melted in her arms.  
Jaina ducked her head to catch Sylvanas's eyes... that narrow path... _kisses and barbs_.  
“Did I do something wrong?”  
“Divines no-” Sylvanas let more of her weight press Jaina into the bottom of the tub, “ It's not you.. I just-” She raked a hand back through her mussed wet hair, “I'm not... I don't know how to say...”

Jaina traced a suggestive circle against Sylvanas's chest “Are you saying 'Its not you, it's me?'”

Sylvanas nearly hissed. Her internal conflict evaporated with the steam, and she was a predator again. Purposeful and pinning Jaina with intent, “ It _is_ me. At that inn? I wanted you then too. I was rough; I hurt you. We didn't...I wasn't like that. We weren't like that... before.”

“You're right. We weren't like this before.” Jaina hooked one of her legs around Sylvanas's for leverage, “We didn't talk before, didn't touch.” She rocked up, “ This is much better.”  
“You know which 'before' I mean.”

“If you mean to say before time ravaged my human body-”  
Sylvanas silenced her with a kiss. Rough, as she'd described. Thorough and exhaustive. A mission with conquest in mind and Jaina relished it. Returned it. She pulled back only to let Jaina breathe, and spoke again. “The only thing time has done, is render you more annoying.”  
“Some things change,” Jaina hummed, skimming her hands along the muscles of Sylvanas's back, then around to cup her breasts, “Some things stay the same.”

Sylvanas laughed again, a harsher sound, and took Jaina's mouth in another kiss. Arms pinned above her head, Jaina arched her back trying to gather as much sensation as possible. _Greedy_ , she chastised herself again, greedy for barreling forward not knowing what Sylvanas wanted, what she needed from her. Dishonest with her while Jaina played house in her head. As If they would be anything. _As_ _If this means anything to her._ However, her lust addled brain was still something of a pragmatic scholar-if not a strictly unbiased one. _We' are in Windrunner Spire. She wouldn't do all of this if it didn't_ mean _something._ She could find out what Sylvanas wanted, and still get her own needs met. Or most of them. _Compromise._

  
A possessive hand wrapped around her waist, fingernails sunk into her hips. Sylvanas brought Jaina down to grind against her thigh, her pants both a blessing and curse. Breath in her ear. Kisses burned into her neck.

“I'm trying to tell you- I want to destroy you,” Sylvanas admitted hotly, “ I want to ruin you for anyone else. To have you so completely that no one else can do for you what I can.” Another sharp thrust, arrhythmic with teeth gnashing against her collarbone, “And yet you manage to frame it as romantic. It's not.”

Jaina moaned, riding down against Sylvanas's thigh, “Funny-All I hear is that you want my satisfaction.”  
“There you go again.”  
“ And now, 'yes dear'. You shouldn't have written me poetry if you didn't-”  
“Hush,” Sylvanas braced her arm and turned Jaina's face away. She pushed her thumb against Jana's mouth, then inside against her tongue and jaw, “Quiet now.”

  
She groaned, sucking on Sylvanas's thumb, trying to hear over the blood pounding through her skull and the churn of the water. One of Sylvanas's hands kneaded her thigh, opening her, and still she was speaking, picking up a rhythm with her hips. Jaina counted her hasty plan as a success.

“I wanted to bring you somewhere familiar," More rocking, more not-enough friction, "Somewhere _mine_ , to fuck the memories of who I used to be so far from your mind that- ah- _yes, that's it, cry out for me_ \- I wanted to bring you-” Her words came in a rush, bitter and hard like her hold, “to bring you somewhere worthy of a Queen. But look at you-” Her tone broke when her fingers, two of them, thrust into Jaina and met a wetness smoother than water, “ _Oh_ look _at you_ -”

Sylvanas swallowed a growl as Jaina bit down on the grip in- around- her jaw. Jaina was doing her best to encourage Sylvanas to say what she needed to, to do whatever it was that she wanted to do to her. To do what Jaina wanted her to do. _Whichever._ Jaina thought she would die if Sylvanas stopped talking, if she stopped fucking her. _Confessing her love?_ Whichever.

Sylvanas swallowed thickly “You- you make it hard to worship you like a queen when you moan like a whore.”

A third finger joined the first two and Jaina gasped, panting, clawing at Sylvanas's shirt, trying to find skin. She was dizzy from the heat, from a lack of air, from the heavy words Sylvanas kept hissing into her ear. Jaina wanted skin against hers, wanted to drag her nails and paint angry stripes across Sylvanas's perfect back. Wanted to kiss them better after. Wanted to bring her sweets in bed, and fuck her into the mattress after. Wanted, and wanted.

“What was that?” Sylvanas taunted, curling her fingers with just the right pressure, earning another moan, “ A lady shouldn't speak with her mouth full.” She removed her thumb, and supported her arm against the rim of the tub instead. “But then again...” She trailed off then stopped. Everything stopped, and Jaina's heart seemed to stop too. “You're not a Lady, are you?”

  
Jaina managed to find her voice, pulling at Sylvanas's soaked shirt, coaxing it up over her head. “No,” she agreed. She didn't even hear the sound of it slapping the stone when she discarded it. Her world had contracted. Only Sylvanas.

“No, I'm not.” She repeated. Sylvanas's gaze was feral, viscous and possessive. It thrilled her. She wanted more of it. _More._ “I'm not your Lady, I'm your wh-”

  
Sylvanas thrust up again, swallowing her words, and the sounds she made after. Jaina was glad her head was pillowed by Sylvanas's arm now instead of the metal, but then thought vanished as Sylvanas brought the heel of her hand against her clit. She stroked up again, firmly. The stretch, the motion had Jaina trembling. Jaina bit down on Sylvanas's lip. She tasted ichor, bitter and laced with arcane and then Sylvanas was whispering harshly once more.  
“Tell me-” She was panting now, something that thrilled Jaina to her toes, “ -Tell me I'm better than anyone you've had.”  
“You're better.”  
“Than anyone?” Another stroke, faster. Harder.  
Jaina stifled an indecent sound against Sylvanas's shoulder, her voice low and throaty,“ _Yes_.”  
“ Better than, your guard, your prince, your dragon?”  
Each syllable punctuated by a thrust, a building brutal rocking that Jaina was sure was meant to be too much and not enough. She thought she might be crying. Begging was more likely.

“Yes, please yes, Sylvanas-”

“--Better that your General?”  
The words tore through Jaina in ways that the mana bomb hadn't managed to, and she couldn't seem to find enough of Sylvanas to hold on to. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but sink her teeth into Sylvanas's shoulder and try to take what she was given.  
“Answer me.”

She tried, couldn't. There was only Sylvanas around her, inside of her. There didn't seem room for air in her chest with how full Sylvanas made her feel.  
“ _Tell me_.”  
“Alive-or-dead” Jaina managed, ragged, “Always you. Best.”  
Sylvanas nearly purred, and finally gave Jaina exactly what she needed.

  
  
When she came round, there was considerably less water in the tub than Jaina recalled there being before. She was cradled against Sylvanas's chest, as the elf stroked her hair. She was speaking, low and soft. Ripples of her native tongue that made Jaina feel weak.

“ _... you, at the Sun even, but most of all at myself. And when I did start to recall, everything was distorted, and it was far, far too late.... I just wanted to go home. To take you home with me. And I couldn't._ ”  
  
Jaina didn't dare move, didn't want to blink even, but Sylvanas tilted her chin up. “Ah, so I won't have to summon a Valkyre. Pity.”

  
But Sylvanas was smiling, painted and glittering in the sunlight, almost glowing in the bright room. Jaina sighed, something warm burning its way through her chest. She couldn't stop the words. They just poured out.

“I love you.”

Sylvanas looked stunned. Her perfect face a picture of confusion and tentative pleasure.

Jaina kissed her. Said it again.“I love you, Sylvanas.”

  
Jaina kissed her throat, her collarbones, her shoulders, traced the lines of scars.  
“I was in the middle of telling you I was sorry. It was going to be quite a lengthy confession.”

  
“Apology accepted.” Jaina ran her hand down the length of Sylvanas's lean frame and when she reached her pants, she couldn't help but chuckle as she banished them. “Let me return the favor.”  
“ It doesn't have to be like this. I said before-”  
“You're right, I shouldn't have pulled you in fully dressed. Order of operations,” Jaina continued to nuzzle into the side of Sylvanas's neck, stroking her legs, her stomach, her back, “I'll be sure to banish clothing before hand next time.”  
Sylvanas sighed, almost a chuckle, “You're a foolish mage.”  
“Mmm.” Jaina agreed, enjoying the feel of Sylvanas's responses, the play of muscle underneath her hands. It was a luxury to touch. She felt stupid, still high off her climax, eager to carve herself into Sylvanas as deeply as she had into her.

“I mean it. I'm sorry. For everything.”

  
Jaina paused. Changing what she thought she'd wanted. Maybe... this instead.

  
“How about a reward then, instead of an apology?”  
Sylvanas's ears perked up, but her lips were still a thin line. “ A reward? For what?”  
Jaina shifted, sliding back and pulling Sylvanas with her, letting her float as she secured her leg about her own hip. _Gods, she's gorgeous._ _Stunning_.

“Well, for being pretty, for starters.”  
Sylvanas scoffed, but Jaina thought she could see the faintest hint of red in her ears.

Jaina idly swirled her fingers over Sylvanas's ribs, and without her support, Sylvanas had to hold on to the sides to stay up. _Perfect_.  
“...and for being so sweet. You were a perfect gentleman caller.”  
Sylvanas did laugh- and it was finally an honest sound. No trace of melancholy, no sour note. “A gentleman? I completely ravished you.”

“You tried to court me. Successfully too.”  
“It was a ruse to bed you.” Sylvanas said dismissively, letting her head rest against the back. She was grinning.  
Jaina pressed her thumbs into the arch of one of Sylvanas's feet and watched the way her eyes slid closed _._ The faint furrow of her brow as she hid her pleasure.  
Jaina did not hide her smug tone,“You hand wrote me erotic poems from before the fall.”  
“I told you, they're prayers to the sun.”

“Not the way you wrote them.”

Sylvanas fidgeted. She grunted, “I didn't think your Thalassian was that good.”

“I practiced, just for you.”  
Jaina drew soft patterns along Sylvanas's stomach, against her thighs, trying to get her to relax, to surrender some of her control. Gentle passes along the outsides of her legs. Slow, thoughtful, kneading tight muscles, tracing old faded scars. Leisurely circles up her abdomen, counting her ribs and skimming the curve of her breasts.

“... well, if not for that then, what about a reward for how well you fucked me?

Jaina felt hungry now. A feeling of pride and passion coiling hot behind her sternum, burning down to settle in her hips. She watched Sylvanas swallow, a faint flush, likely a trick of steam, of the coloured windows staining her chest and throat a deeper shade of violet.Her lips parted in a sigh that was lost to the steam.

When Sylvanas didn't answer, Jaina leaned in and gently kissed her cheek.

“Why, yes, that sounds very nice, doesn't it.” She exhaled against one of Sylvanas's nipples, pleased with the way it pebbled almost immediately. “But how to go about it...?”  
She kissed it then too, and the other, equal and alternating attention until Sylvanas groaned.

“I thought it was to be a reward, not torture.”

Jaina hummed again, straightening up and letting her hands ghost over Sylvanas once more.

“Are you saying you do deserve a reward then?”  
Sylvanas cracked open an eye at that, “Did I not completely satisfy you?”  
“So you _do_ deserve one. Say it.” Jaina inched her fingers up the inside of Sylvanas's thigh, higher and higher, a hardly there touch that had the woman below her taut and wanting.  
“I do.” She said it as if the admission stung.  
“Why?”

Sylvanas whined. She actually whined, and Jaina thought that if someone tried to harm Sylvanas ever again- _anyone, one time_ \- she'd blast them into the astral plane. A fierce wave of possessive protectiveness rolled over her, and Jaina made up her mind. She wove a small rune, a simple thing, and passed her fingers first over her own sex- then paused.  
“You know why Sylvie, say it.”  
She sighed, “...Because I was a good girl.”  
Jaina groaned, and sealed the rune with a gentle touch. She glided her hips forward, and she delighted in Sylvanas's gasp. She felt so, so good.  
“What -”  
“-I'm a mage.”  
Sylvanas grunted her approval, one of her hands coming up to her mouth to stifle herself. “A- a mage- _shit_.”  
Jaina shifted the leg Sylvanas had around her hip, up, over her shoulder, and changed her angle. In moments, Sylvanas gasped a shaky, fragile exhalation. She attempted to turn the sound into a command.

“Harder.”  
“No.” Jaina murmured, kept the even, gentle roll of her pace. She peppered Sylvanas's raised knee with kisses, “No, pretty girl. This is a reward.”

Jaina watched Sylvanas's chest rise, a breath that was reflex, that Jaina had caused- watched the drops of water in her hair, on her skin shimmer, breaking light into rainbows. Jaina caressed Sylvanas's opposite thigh and and then traced a lazy pattern over her pubic mound. She had always loved doing that. Writing on her, mostly about how beautiful she was, in as many languages as Jaina could think of, invisible on her skin. _Some things don't change_. Jaina moved lower, and began to trace the same words, deftly over Sylvanas's clit. She felt the clench, the warmth of the response, and desire raced up her own spine, fueled by the connection she'd made. Jaina steeled her resolve, and kept her steady pace, even as her own desire thundered in her ears.  
  
“Jaina.”  
  
Jaina could hardly take her eyes away from what she was doing, from watching herself play with Sylvanas, to look up at her face, but she was glad she did.

Her hair was a royal mess,in and out of the tub, half dry and curling in places,in others plastered against her skin. She looked like a goddess, something wild, and soft and somehow still able to break Jaina in half. Some sort of saber cat, content now to be stroked.

“More.”  
“Pretty girl, relax,” Jaina did increase the pressure against her clit fractionally, but not its speed, “Trust me. I'll get you there.”

Sylvanas wrapped her other leg around Jaina, pulling her forward, trying to force that more she wanted. Jaina wanted it too. She really did, she really did want to return the favor- leave lasting bruises, mark her in ways that Sylvanas would have to remember later, evidence that Jaina had been there, that Sylvanas Windrunner had been _had_ \- had been well and truly _fucked_ \- to feel the feedback and pleasure from the arcane toy burn Sylvanas up as Jaina took her own completion in return. But now was not the time. Jaina scraped her teeth lightly along Sylvanas's calf, but did not speed up. She didn't allow herself to be rushed.

“Do you have any idea how good you feel?” Jaina whispered, _because fuck,_ she did feel good. And this was a reward after all.  
Sylvanas made one of those soft, hushed moaning sounds that Jaina adored, and she chased after it. Jaina continued;“ Or how pretty you look, while you take my cock so well?”  
Another faint, near strangled sound.  
“That's it,” Jaina crooned, echoing the words of praise in cursive against her clit. _Pretty girl, my girl_. Jaina had thought this a good plan, but she was dangerously close to coming first. “ But you can do better. You can do it dear heart, relax and take me.”  
  


And then, Sylvanas's knuckles were white on the burnished rim of the tub, her eyes squeezed shut against the world, and there was what Jaina had been waiting for. Soft, urgent surrender.  
“-please, Jaina. Please I...”  
“Yes?” Jaina shifted her grip on Sylvanas's raised leg, pressing in, to change the angle ever so slightly. Just a little deeper. The faint, breezy moan in response nearly killed her. “Yes. Like that, just like that pretty girl. What do need?”  
“Please. Fuck.”  
“I am.”  
Sylvanas groaned, a full-throated sound, amusement and frustration, and Jaina's heart soared. This belonged to her. No one could take this away- She didn't have to share with anyone, compromise or parlay- this was _hers_. This was an uncomplicated moment. The woman she loved moaning for her, and she wouldn't ever have to feel conflicted about it again.

“Tell me what you want, sweet girl.” Jaina bent lower, and she wasn't above using more magic. The water was warmer now, hot, it clung to Sylvanas's skin, cupped and hugged and stroked her too; wringing out those delicious notes Jaina thirsted for. All Jaina could smell was sex and flowers and cedar smoke. She was drunk on Sylvanas, on how she looked, and sounded and felt and-

  
“ Pl-please” Sylvanas's hand shot up and sunk into Jaina's hair, “ _Blore'-- Ann'da_ \- please fuck me.”

Jaina couldn't not. Not like that- how could she refuse? She poured herself into it, not the way Sylvanas might have- not with force. Jaina was a mage after all. She started to funnel mana into Sylvanas, through her hips, and her hands and her mouth. She wanted to fill Sylvanas, to make her think she couldn't possibly feel more, and then deliver another wave of it, so sweet it blistered. The bath shone with it. Jaina's world was starlight and sunshine and sparkling pinks. Amber and turquoise sunlight. Sylvanas moaning her name, holding onto her like a life raft in the ocean while manna logged water clung and bleached her hair a faint cerulean.  
  


Jaina reached for the damaged ley line, the foundations of magic in the ruins of the spire. It wasn't a hard thing to do. She was sure Sylvanas would notice, and then she 'pulled' it. It was slow, a sluggish current of old, ancient magic. A memory. But it responded too. She tied it to Sylvanas like an anchor.  
  
“Let go Sylvie,” She kissed her chin, she couldn't reach her mouth with her head thrown back like that, her hair a glorious spread in the water, “Come for me.”  
  
She thrust up, and in with her magic at the same time, and thank the gods Sylvanas came apart in her arms because Jaina couldn't stop herself from climaxing either.  
  
She sagged forward over Sylvanas's leg, gliding over her in the water. Jaina's arms trembled as she hung above, unwilling to sacrifice the view beneath her.

“You are so, so good for me.” Jaina kissed her throat again, her jaw, her shoulders. She massaged Sylvanas's hip, letting her leg down. “You are so good.”

Sylvanas was breathing shallowly, and Jaina swore that for a few moments, she heard a heartbeat. It faded with the arcane, and slowly the magic she'd called leached away. Excess trickling away from herself and Sylvanas down into the foundations of the tower. Jaina made an effort to calm her own breathing, as she stroked one of Sylvanas's cheekbones with her thumb. It was a strange thing, to hold someone like her. The glow of the water still lingered, making her look like some kind of drust deity. Not dead, not alive. _Not mine- not yet_. Jaina was willing to work on that last part though.

Finally Sylvanas lifted her head.

“Why?”  
Jaina frowned. That hadn't been the response she'd hoped for. “Why? Why are you good- I-”  
“No.” Sylvanas shook her head, looping her arms around Jaina, urging her down, “Why did you touch the ley line?”  
“Oh,” Jaina felt a measure of relief as she settled into boneless contentment against Sylvanas's chest. “So you can repair the Spire of course. Its not finished. Yet.”  
Sylvanas's arms constricted around her.  
“You... want to finish the Spire?”  
Jaina's eyelids were heavy, and her muscles burned from pleasant exhaustion. The most beautiful woman in the world was talking to her now about magical home repair. She thought she could die happily. “Yes.” She answered in a matter of fact fashion, “ The signature should even match you now- it likely wont answer to anyone else.”  
“Except you?”  
“Naturally.” Jaina buried her face against Sylvanas's neck, “How else would I come home to you?”  
  
The choked sound Sylvanas made nearly scared Jaina half to death. _Hysterics_. Halfway between a moan and sob.

“Sylvanas. Are you dying?”  
“- I might be?” Her fingers dug sharply into Jaina's shoulders. “Are you being serious?”  
“ I began the reparations, yes. Though it may take more than one session. Why would I joke about-”  
Sylvanas kissed her, whispering disparaging things in Thalassian that Jaina could hardly hear between caresses, “ _You idiot- you foolish- ridiculous- absurd- silly-_ ”  
“Talented?”  
Sylvanas broke away, her expression exasperated. Her voice was deadly serious.“You know I cannot let you go now.”

“I like how that sounds.”  
“Our factions are at war.”  
“In name. I hear from a reliable source that peace talks are an option.”  
  
Sylvanas's eyes narrowed, even as the corner of her mouth twitched up, “Did you seduce me. For world peace.”  
As tenderly as Jaina was able, she kissed her cheek. “No, I seduced you because you're pretty.”  
“You're a disaster.”  
Jaina nodded. “You're wrong- the water didn't cool.”  
Sylvanas nipped her ear. “You nearly boiled me in mana.”  
“You loved it.”  
  
Sylvanas slowed her assault on Jaina's ear. Her gaze somewhere off to the left. Jaina immediately disliked not being the center of her attention, and followed the stare.  
On the floor, something pulsed steadily, a star in the sea of clothing and faintly iridescent water.  
  
Sylvanas's tone was carefully neutral. “That's... my hearthstone.”  
Jaina had that full feeling again. Either fullness or an aching hunger- she couldn't tell which. A need to protect, to comfort. She angled Sylvanas's face back to meet her eyes.  
“No, it's mine. You gave it to me.”

Her lip trembled slightly at that. Sylvanas looked like she was going to say one of a hundred different things, and didn't. Instead, she pulled Jaina flush against her. Jaina did not mind that Sylvanas hadn't returned her declaration of love. _In so many words at least_. She hadn't expected her to. It would have been too much, to plainly, to fast. With an ear against her chest, Jaina could hear a bassy resonance to Sylvanas's voice that reminded her of the ocean.  
“... I really cannot bear to let you go.”

That was close enough. Jaina closed her eyes and replied.

“I said, I'm really alright with that.”  
A long, painful and protracted pause tried Jaina's patience.

“What will you tell- Anyone? What will they say?” A pause. “Would you deny me?”  
“Why deny that we spent over long in a tub?”  
Sylvanas curbed a snarl and Jaina slid herself back up. Her voice was firm, resolute. Placating.

“I couldn't deny you. But I will tell them to mind their own damn business.” She watched Sylvanas's expression soften as she reached up to cup her face. Jaina couldn't help herself, or the rising tide of mischief... “Unless you'd prefer I tell them you called me daddy.”  
“I'll drown you myself.”

There wasn't any real threat. Only the sunshine in Sylvanas's hair and a thousand puddles on the floor that glittered like diamonds. Jaina was tired again, as if she'd tried to move a mountain on her hands and knees. The room was too much, Sylvanas was too much, her own heart was too much.

“You're beautiful.”  
“You're delusional.” Sylvanas opined, sounding resigned. She gathered Jaina to her chest, and in a display of strength, lifted them both out of the tub.

“And now you're a show off.”  
Sylvanas didn't deign the remark with a reply.

Jaina didn't dislike anything about her current situation though. She certainly didn't dislike being carried, or when Sylvanas laid her down on a towel that was made from the softest thing she'd ever felt. She thought she might have been placed on a mattress after that, but she'd had her eyes closed, and she wasn't about to open them now. _Where had she hidden a whole bed?_ When Sylvanas's weight pressed her further into a plush comforter, she managed to mutter, “Don't you want to be the little spoon?”

“Hush. Let me hold you,” Her voice was low and warm, “ I can pretend you're some sweet young thing.”

  
Jaina hummed, and found Sylvanas's hands, brought them up to her mouth, kissed her fingertips. Her archer's hands. “I can be whatever you want me to be.”  
“I want you to be asleep.”  
Jaina yawned, and kissed her palms this time. She could smell the sheets, something fresh and clean, maybe heather. Tulips, and sun warmed cotton. Behind her Sylvanas curved in around her, fitting against her, a perfect match. She was so happy right then, she thought she might cry.  
“... this is perfect...” Jaina muttered drowsily.  
She swore she heard Sylvanas whisper, just before she really did fall asleep.  
“Yes, you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really have a plan, and I still don't. I just like these two and think they're neat?  
> Let me know what you think.  
> <3 ~ Q


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> accidental plot. Many, many feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm dyslexic and make stupid errors, forgive me.  
> But it's long, and has lots of feelings.

  
  
_It's May. I should be braiding violets into her hair._

The wind tore viciously at the casement, spitting snow at the tower and scattering Sylvanas’s thoughts. She stood in the center of her private chambers, taking care not to stain her carpets with the salt from boots. The action hid her tension, disguised the low rage and helpless frustration roiling in her gut. It was with effort that her ears were not pinned back, that her hackles were not raised. She felt like a springpaw, worried by hunters and their hounds. She wanted- _I want many things that I may not have._ She tried to keep her jaw from clicking as she spoke to her retinue of rangers filing in behind her.  
  
“Well? ” She kept her eyes trained ahead, at the dark beyond the window as she swung her heavy cloak on to its hook. She watched their reflections, distorted in the warped glass. “What news?”  
  
“It bodes ill, General _,_ ” Ranger Captain Areile's low voice was a snap of Thalassian. The woman had never liked common when she lived, and she certainly wasn't going to start speaking it now, “The game is gone. Even in the deep jungles they flee to- they freeze or starve.”  
  
 _So it is as I feared._ Sylvanas relaxed her shoulders and turned to face them.  
  


  
They were grim. _Even for my flight of rangers used to insurmountable odds_. Vorel and Lyana were thin lipped and unusually silent. Even Nathanos didn't proffer the habitual garish pun or deadpan remark. Velonara stepped forward, reluctant, and on leaden feet; Sylvanas could almost see the storm clouds between her lowered ears. She held her game bag, the only one with weight, as if it disgraced her. She spilled the contents on the floor.  
  
A mourning dove.

Two skinny rats.

  
As if to highlight the insanity of the situation, the wind howled. _Like a starving wolf breaking its teeth on the stone._ Sylvanas kept her face a studied neutral. _All of it_ , the fear, the contingency planning and preparations. The reserves, the terrible plans she'd put into motion just incase…. All that she'd made out of presumed paranoia- _all of it warranted._

  
“This was all I could find.” Velonara ducked her head. “ I am sorry, My Queen.”  
Loralyn rested a hand on the woman's shoulder, but it was Kilaria that offered comfort, “You at least, made a kill.”  
  


Sylvanas couldn't look away from the mangy corpses. Too starved, too cold even to have flees. The painful protrusion of the bird's breast bone, sharp beneath its patchy down. It reminded her of the pinched faces in her cities.

  
“Give the order to start the second phase distribution programs. Abide my recommendations. We cannot wait longer.”

Both Nathanos and Ariel nodded, but did not leave.

  
Ranger Alina stepped forward calmly, and presented a roll of heavy parchment to Sylvanas with a formal bow, “The ledger, as requested.” Her voice was soft, somber. The snow on the glass thunderous in comparison.

_The twice damned ledger._

Sylvanas could tell it'd grown longer. Much longer. Her rangers did not shift anxiously in their semicircle around her as they might have before, but the subtle flick of ear, and twitch of eyebrow was near enough. The shape of the near future was a grotesque shadow, daunting and stark as it hunched towards them.

  
Sylvanas accepted the roll graciously from Alina who did a poor job of disguising her sympathy. They knew, the way sailors knew how to read the waves, how to read their General. _They know me too well_. Some days it was a comfort, others a millstone around her neck.

Nearby, pacing on the thick carpet, Lor'themar Theron still had yet to speak. He continued to grind his teeth, trying to find a way around the chasm of circumstance that'd opened around them. It was monstrous, the proposition looming ahead- even out of mercy. _If it is the right path, I will shoulder the burden._ Her gaze flickered over them, measuring her oldest friends. Her truest, sharpest arrows.

 _...And they will follow my example. Damn them all_.  
  
Finally, in a perennial show of stress, Lor'themar halted, pinching the bridge of his nose.  
“Warchief, we are at a crossroads.”  
“Yes, Regent Lord, we are.” She didn't deny it.  
He inclined his head towards the ledger. “If your aim was instead to... seek a final solution to our continued conflicts with the Alliance, you now hold the key.”

She did.

Names, hundreds, thousands- _hundreds of thousands_ \- of willing soldiers could answer her call. More than she'd ever had before in life, or death.  
Civilians _. Potential soldiers._ Underage. _Untrained_. Alive, but willing... Not forsaken.  
 _Not yet_.

The room seemed suddenly crowded with the ghosts of kin, of friends whose bodies paved the streets of Silvermoon, and then later, bolstered the ranks of the scourge. Sylvanas wondered what they would think of her now. How they would measure her. Would they consider this action another war crime, and against her own people, regardless of intent. _When have my intentions mattered in the end_?

The wind howled.

Nathanos spoke. A departure from his usually brutish pursuit of conflict, his words were almost gentle,“My Queen, you are not the Lich King.”

_You are nothing like Him_. He doesn't say it. He doesn't say, ' _you will not raise them without choice. You will not force them to fight.'_ He doesn't have to say what they are thinking. The worship, the love wrapped up so tightly with duty and honor it overshadowed the resentment- Sylvanas saw it in their eyes every day. In their words. _'Dark Lady_ '... In The way they still called her their General.

Nathanos swallowed, then forged ahead when his pause had spoken long enough, “ I will always support you, and our people. If you can find no other way, I stand with you... But the moment you do- I am your right hand. ”  
  


His pledge was earnest, honest. Without mindless fervor. It reminded Sylvanas of a young human man, broad and bulky; awkward in the green leathers made for a lithe elf. _The hood never sat right- not without the ears_. She closed her eyes tipping her chin down in acknowledgment. The sun dappled memory was out of place in her frigid tower room. _It is unlike Nathan' to doubt, and unlike Lor' to incite unrest._

 _Belore has finally damned us._ For how else could she view an endless winter?

  
Captain Areile cleared her throat, and folded her arms contemplatively. A campaigner resigned to fate and her commander, but still morbidly curious. “So, do we walk into the lion's den, or skin the litter?”

Unbidden, Sylvanas glanced at her expansive desk. To the letter there, bright with the unbroken official. She could still hear the tinny bray of the Alliance brass. An official invitation into neutral territory. The envoy had crossed into her lands that morning and proceeded, Bold as you you please, with a request for a ceasefire. A peace summit had been proposed by King Wryn, and a joint search for the source of the cold- would Sylvanas attend? An official appeal for humanitarian aid had been brought to her as well, could she spare anything? Sylvanas had wanted to laugh. Laugh long, and cold, and empty. As if she had anything to give. As if her own troops on the front lines didn't need shelter, food or goods or care. _As if my soldiers are not people_. She had burned to make him grovel. Make the clean, well dressed ambassador crawl to her and lick her boots for the insolence. _Ignorance_. The absurdity of calling on _her_ to; 'finally _put the lives of common people before your own, and consider a lasting peace and mutual acceptance. Bury your old sorrows and grievances'._

_The nerve._

But the boy had been young, peach fuzzed and cow-eyed, too young to have known who she was. To know the true weight of her _name_ , and how she _died_ , why- _the why of anything_. Instead of crushing him under the heel of history, Sylvanas had only gestured vaguely. With a nod, an aid had accepted his papers on a tray and taken them away. He had not been shot on the way out, his Silver Hand guards had not been harassed. They had made it home safely.

But she had not opened the letter.

She should have burned it. The choice was a heavy mantle now. _Areile is right to ask._ She hadn't truly decided. _Not yet.  
  
_ Lor'themar's logic was sound, she had explored the option _.It would be a master stroke_. A hegemonic horde, unified under the banner of forsaken...and there could be no enemy, if the enemy was fully subsumed. Now _would_ be the perfect time to strike. To end with surety and conviction while the enemy was weak.  
  
The wind howled.

 _Hungry_.  
Like everyone.  
  
Sylvanas ran the tip of her tongue over the points of her teeth. Flexed her fingers. Decided.  
  
“We will go. Peacefully. And we will leave peacefully.” Her voice was toneless, even for her, “If no amiable solution is presented... We will care for our own. As we always have.”  
  


It was neither a confirmation nor a denial but they were used to such things, and they knew a dismissal when they heard it, though a few lingered, trying to catch her eye. Sylvanas for her part, ignored them and busied herself with removing her remaining outdoor gear.  
  
She didn't want their sympathy, or their company, their kinship or the fleeting moments of joy- the complication of remembering a broken life. She wanted things simple. _Stupid simple_. To be in her spire, pretending to be nothing more than a common ranger again. Wanted to indulge in the terrible feral urge to make a den, a nest. A place to bring home a wife-  
She clamped down on the thought. Wrestled it to its knees and banished it.  
  
  
Sylvanas turned herself to the task of organizing her desk as they filed out. It was already fastidiously tidy. A functional and prodigious work space was one of the only vanities she'd allowed herself to enjoy. If she was going to go through the ordeal of actually wanting something, she wanted the best.

She was particular about the quills, how many there should be - _no less than three, no more than seven_ \- how sharp they should be- _very_ \- and where her pen knife was placed- _within reach for a sharpening and letter opening… or stabbing_. She liked her ink well 'just so', the perfect angle- _111 degrees_ \- for dipping without dribbling ink gracelessly.

The desk itself was a behemoth of a thing. She'd had the great oaken table originally meant for the warchief's private dinners- and converted into a feat of order. The long polished surface was flush with the wall, and extended, bled up and out into dovetail joints of shelving. Beautiful. _Useful_. Ordered and meticulously, methodically well filed. _Regimented_. Tax codes, property deeds and maps older than most bloodlines, and some made mere days before; Trade manifests, routes and neatly labeled treasury records, as well as dossiers and character assessments of every person of note she'd ever come across. Encyclopedic. _Thorough-everything a head of state could want. And then_... then there were the real indulgences. Things that she would have been embarrassed about having if her rangers hadn't occasionally asked to borrow them. Old works, leather bound and spelled against time. Luxurious sentimental texts that Sylvanas couldn't bear to part with, once she'd hunted down a copy. Poetry, prayers, epics, fairy tales, trail songs and even recipe books.

She paused, examining the notch of a quill as her eyes settled on the unassuming puzzle box on the highest shelf. Sylvanas resisted the urge to run her fingers along it, resenting the rush of comfort she knew would follow. The weakness that comfort exposed in her felt unbearable. Still, she wanted to take down the box, as she sometimes did, and spread the letters out on her desk, and pour over the correspondence. It was a poor substitute for spreading the mage out beneath her, but it had to do. She couldn't understand how deftly Jaina could twist her way out of each corner she was backed into. How Jaina could so easily get Sylvanas's hackles to rise, only to sooth her swiftly with compassion and humor the next. And all in codes, all in banter and games and half promises. It was like she was being played by a master harper.

It drove Sylvanas mad. She relished it.

  
They'd made several attempts to meet again, a dinner engagement or a walk on some distant shore line, but each time something had been in the way. _A death, a war party, a diplomatic necessity_. And then the mana storms, strange occurrences- things that had made the winter more intense than usual. And then drag on, and on.

  
 _Pathetic._ She should have burned the letters long ago. The box too, to erase evidence, the risk of vulnerability.... but she couldn't. _Sentimental_.

She certainly wasn't going to reach for it now, in company at any rate.

The Warchief mooning over stumbling love letters and hoarding them instead of using them as kindling would not have been dignified. It certainly wouldn't instill the kind of distance a commanding officer was supposed to have with their subordinates. _If I can truly call them that any longer._  
  


  
Sylvanas heard a step behind her, and knew it, as she knew each of her rangers' steps. She returned the quill she'd been pretending to examine to its proper place.  
“What do you require Anya?”  
  
Anya sighed, striding past and into Sylvanas's line of sight. She placed another letter next to the unopened Alliance manifesto.  
  
“This came to the aerie as you arrived, just before you summoned us.”  
  
It was a plain letter, unmarked, and tied with green ribbon; Jaina's arcane signature bled from it like puss oozing from a wound. From Anya's subdued knowing grin, Sylvanas wondered how long Anya would take before-.  
  
“Is this why you would stall for peace?”

_Not long at all._

  
It wasn't accusatory, but it was something only Anya might have said to her. Sylvanas couldn't grasp the whole shape of their friendship; some relic buried in the sand their past together- but their communication in their undeath had always been easy. Anya seemed to perceive what she would command moments before Sylvanas issued the order. _The skeleton of a bond._ A foundation that death hadn't been able to topple.  
  
“It is a reason to entertain the invitation.” Sylvanas did not reach for it, did not wrap the ribbon around her fingers and nose it for familiar perfume, “ Nothing more.”  
  
Anya reflected. Turning the statement over. She said slowly, carefully pushing the envelope, “It could be more.”  
  
Sylvanas checked the reflex to press her hand to her pocket. Stopped from ensuring that the damned token hadn't budged. She wished fleetingly, that her officers feared her. That she had the absolute control, the cold cunning and manipulative disinterest her enemies accused her of. Instead, she had- _had this_. A ranger looking upon her with mingled sympathy and protective pride _. Of course._

Of course the unit had caught Sylvanas obsessing over the edges of her blades, the sharpness of her arrows. Watched her Idly shredding bits of paper, rending small scraps of metal, the stems of grass on hunts. They had seen it in her before she had seen it herself. When she'd realized it, Sylvanas had been struck with a wave of butterflies and disgust. _Classic tells_. Obvious. _The urge to court._ She'd thought she'd left that nonsense behind when she died. _The urge to bring baskets or fruit, and write love poetry. The urge to hunt, and blood the kills under the noon sun, to take a lover on a blanket of moss in the eversong woods. The urge to bite and mark and mate._ The puzzle box was a flaming admission to it. She'd made it herself when she'd started on the Spire.

And once they'd all seen _that_ she couldn't disguise it. Like a facial tick.

  
Sylvanas wondered if they knew too, that she had made a favor once, before, and for the same woman. She had that memory, at least, clearly. A plan to properly woo Jaina, in line with the long customs of her people. _It had been a feather then_ -a ring. A match to the set Sylvanas had used to wear in her own ears... She hadn't been granted the opportunity to present it before...

_Where are they now?_

_Crushed? Buried in the field where I fell?_

“It could be more.” Anya pressed in the silence, “You want it to be ...”

Sylvanas had smothered the urge to secure the pouch in her breast pocket, but couldn't sheath the sharp side of her tongue.  
“Do not speak of such things.”  
  
“Of peace?” Anya said levelly. She put her hands palm down on the desk, a show of being unarmed. “We've been dreaming of this you know. What we whisper about in the barracks. Peace that is. Lasting, generational interdependence between factions. For what have we fought, if not for our people?”  
  
“Gossips, the lot of you.” Sylvanas rolled her eyes, finally pivoting to face Anya. She sneered “Birds twittering in the bower.”

  
Her shots went wide. Anya offered her a lopsided grin, and folded her arms across her chest. The ambient warmth of the room had melted into Anya's clothes, and the past flashed before Sylvanas. _We were Recruits together, eager. Tracking a wounded bear, a fierce fight. Skinning the beast in the rain_. They had been through landmark events together in life, it seemed fitting that Anya would still be a burr in her cloak even in death. When Sylvanas did go to the meetings, sure as the sun, Anya would be by her side. _Velonara too._ Anya and Velonara who believed so firmly in the forsaken, and who's belief in Sylvanas was unshakable. Unshakable in ways that made Sylvanas's guts squirm at the constant threat of inadequacy. _Of failing them._

_A second time._

  
  


“You know... it would be a tactical stroke now, General, to sue for the rights of the forsaken.”

  
Sylvanas had already discussed it at length with Lor'themar, and again with the more taciturn Baine when the rumors of peace talks began. Considered using the not inconsiderable weight of the horde as a bargaining chip as leverage for her people's continued existence. To agree to peace in exchange for the right for her people to _be;_ to occupy a place in the world without shame. For the preservation and maintenance of their burgeoning cultural practices, their language- scholarship on their condition; in exchange for peace.  
  
The thought-It made her want to scream.  
 _  
_Her people were worth more than the desperate concessions and halfhearted promises. More than the fragile bonds of rulers holding onto power by the skin of their teeth. It felt like debasement, to sink so low as to beg. Begging. _While I have the power to crush their skulls beneath my feet after so, so long a struggle._

It seemed indecently ironic.  
Especially now, with the poorest contemplating eating their belts and shoe leathers, pleading for Sylvanas to save them. To take them, before hunger could. To save them. _To make them forsaken_.

The ledger sat, huge and ugly on her pretty desk. Loud. An accusation.  
  
“So it would be.” Sylvanas responded noncommittally. She stroked the swell of the ledger, the contrast between it, and the two letters on the wide, empty surface. That green ribbon.  
  
 _Begging_. Heat pooled in her hips, and she felt a smile tug at her mouth. There were precious few things in Azeroth that Sylvanas Windrunner would beg for.

And then she frowned.  


Proudmoore was rooted deep into her like an infectious blight. She loathed that she sought something close to consolation in her words, her correspondence- _in her body_ -, sought the lingering smell of her perfume on parchment. She resented that she had considered wrapping one of those many ribbons around her palm, pretending that it was Jaina's fingers and not her own. The threat of Jaina affecting- _having the mere potential to affect-_ her judgment on matters of state- _it is_ \- she didn't have words for it. _Unacceptable? Not strong enough_. Sylvanas's personal feelings, her own wants, had not entered into her actions for such a long time, that their presence was like a tenacious weed.

Sylvanas avoided conflict when she could. And when she decided it was an unavoidable necessity, she entered each round in the arena of war as the last, a calculated final effort that she was willing to die for. Now that was threatened by something as noxious as hope- a concern for a future that wasn't mindless, a future where she could finally succeed....She shook her head. To stay her hand now while she had the advantage- because of- _Because of fond feelings_.

_This ledger could two solve two problems elegantly....Complete, and total victory in war. And rid me of weakness._   
  


It was a fantasy.A bleak one at that _,_ another desperate last stand _. And the last one went so well._ Sylvanas was willing to admit that in the long run, acceptance for her people could only come through complete integration. Either through parlay and inter faction peace- or through total elimination of outside threat. She seethed with the knowledge that while she dithered and hesitated about her personal feelings- the shades of her morals, the winter tore on and she was a breath closer to failing her duties. Again.

She cleared her throat.

Sylvanas did not know how long they had stood in silence, but Anya turned back to her from where she'd been staring at the bookcase.

“Yes?”

“You will accompany me?” It wasn’t quite an order.  
“Always. Velonara and Nathanos too. We are your shadows.”  
Sylvanas clasped her hands behind her back... “And Theron?”  
Anya smiled, a slow familiar glint of teeth, “As if I could stop our Regent Lord.”  
“Good. Good.”

  
Sylvanas crouched, and scooped the game up from the carpet. “ See what you can do with this. Those birds chattering for peace do need some kind of sustenance.”  
Anya only just managed not to roll her eyes, hooking the dead things into her belt. “Yes, Dark Lady.”  
  
“And one more thing...” Sylvanas added casually, as if the thought had not been plaguing her “At these talks, I would you treat the Lord Admiral's safety with the same gravity you take mine.”  
“The Lord Admiral?” Anya pretended ignorance until flicking her eyes to the letter on the desk, “Oh, your Lady Proudmoore?”   
“Yes. My Lady Proudmoore.”  
Anya's grin at the slip pf possessive pronoun could have outshone the sun, “ That's what I thought you said Warchief. Your will be done.”  
“Your deference will not stall the extra training drills.”  
“ Yes, General. .”

“Or the addition duty shifts.”  
“ As you say, My Queen .”  
“Wonderful. Now...” She held Anya's forearm for a little longer than a commander might. Let go a little faster than a friend would. She smiled, “Get out of my sight.”  
  
  
~~~*~~~

The day was slate gray and Sylvanas did not want to be in Stormwind. She had thought the summit would be in Ashenvale, maybe Booty Bay, Gadgetazan, or even somewhere in the Arathi Highlands. Stormwind did not even fit the basic definition of a neutral city. In fact, it hardly fit the definition of a functional one; it looked like it had been thoroughly sacked. Thin sluggish trails of wood smoke painted the day dark sky. The city was heaped in snow and ice, large sections of walls had crumbled, groaning and shattering under ravenous fingers of frost. Roads leading down to the lower districts had been rendered nearly impassable. And it was quiet. So quiet. Stormwind, the cultural heart of the alliance, motionless. All she could hear was the distant churn of the water as it hammered the coast, the foam as it frothed and froze in the channels. And then the high, keening scream of the wind drowned that out too. It felt familiar, too familiar.

  
At the head of her column, crossing the bridge to the keep, Sylvanas could not shake the feeling she was leading them to death. An ambush. A cruel joke. The wind cut knives across her face, blew back her hood and she did not move to adjust it. She kept her eyes sharp and stride long as Nathanos and Lor'themar flanked her. She had brought other heads of her faction with her of course, as requested. She had crossed every 't', dotted every 'i' . She had resolved to be beyond reproach, perfectly civil, perfectly reasonable. _Calm_. Give her dependents the best chance she could, even as she planned for the worse. The horde was just as invested in finding a solution, an end to the winter, as much as anyone else. As worthy of peace, and mercy, as any other blood stained party at the table.  
  
She would be patient. A predator in wait, and seize the moment to act when it came.  
  
To the credit of those assembled, her party was not accosted in anyway. The great doors to the keep were opened for them, and Sylvanas let her people inside first. _Most of them at least, can still die from exposure_. She pretended not to notice the subtle pledge her rangers offered her as the filed past into the smoke hazed interior. _Damn them_. Their kindness. _Before, after, always._ They would kill for her, had before, would do so again.... Her tension eased, replaced with the grim satisfaction in knowing that if all should go wrong, she at least walked in with open eyes and a full quiver. She would not be cut down alone. _Alone in the face of another Alliance king trying to_ \- she let the thoughts go. An easy thing to do when she focused on the green ribbon she'd wrapped around her wrist under her gauntlet.

Last to enter, Theron stood next to her, the tips of his ears painfully pink, his breath hanging in clouds around them. He stood out from her rangers like a dove in a murder of crows. _No less deadly, Belore knows, but as different._

“ _The Rangers mentioned an extra security detail_?” He said, tilting his head and slipping into their native tongue, “ _Are you sure I shouldn't I have brought a spell breaker instead?”_ His eyes searched hers, _“Are you planning something?”_

  
She flashed a toothy smile, “ _I'd tell you. Lor', wouldn’t I? We have been comrades for centuries.”_

Lor'themar's eyes narrowed, but his posture belayed the ease between them. He frequently argued with her; he never mindlessly obeyed. He goaded, and preached and set exacting standards for the running of state. It reminded her of what having siblings was like.  
He grunted affirmation. “ _Despite my frequent protestations, yes_.”

  
“ _Don't you wish for that friendship to continue?”_

 _“Oh, but say the word and I'll fall upon your sword.”  
_ Sylvanas flicked her ears, “ _I wish you would_.”  
“ _And deprive you the joy of my suffering in council? Never my Lady._ ”  
Sylvanas snorted.  
  


For all her attempts to be punctual and perfect, they were the last to arrive. Sylvanas was used to being seen. Alive, well, she had enjoyed the attention, and dead she had become accustomed to it. The sneering contempt, the pity, the fear and rage and disgust. What she wasn't used to was trying so damn hard not to stare at Jaina Proudmoore.

  
Sylvanas had known she would be at the king’s side. Who else had lost enough to muster the rage to raze cities but had the compassion to stay her hand? Who else would Anduin Wryn turn to if not his favored Aunt? Sylvanas could not think of one more suited to an attempt to bring others to reason and peace.

Still, she would not look. She didn't want the cloying roots of closeness, the bonds growing between them to strangle her, or Jaina’s influence to sway her at the table. _It’s not really her council I object to._ Sylvanas had never refused insight based purely on it's source. She wasn't that prejudiced.

It was only….They'd had the letters yes, continued writing. Nothing that a stranger would read as an affair. Nothing more than a deliberate staged contact- a courtly dance, a sparring match. _Coded._ Nothing that hinted at resolution. Sylvanas remembered every detail from their last meeting; the kindness, humor, eroticism and sex and regret and…She didn't know when she would see Jaina again, ever touch or taste or hold her... If Sylvanas looked at her now with those thoughts so brazenly painted on her face, in a war room with other elves, with other dangerous threats-

It made her skin bristle more than the animosity that followed her to her seat.

Sylvanas was used to having a target on her back, but the thought of Jaina as a focus for her enemies' wrath was.... A gaping wound, a chink in her armor. Another person for her to fail. _As if Jaina couldn't protect herself.  
Laughable_.

Someone drew out her chair, and Sylvanas slid languidly into it. Like she owned it. Nothing else would do. The hush of conversation that had died upon her entrance resumed, and Sylvanas took careful measure of those seated at the table. Skipped neatly over the high king and his retinue. Did not look at Jaina. She focused on the banners hung behind each delegation, and the people who looked just as washed out and threadbare. _I've never seen a thin pandarin before_. In her experience, stressed, taxed people rarely made magnanimous sweeping decisions about reform and reformation. _But maybe dragonhawks can swim_...  
  


Wryn stood a few moments later, drawing attention with his hands palm out, open. _The stance of a healer._

“Thank you, welcome.” He repeated it several languages, and the thoughtfulness of that act from a human made most straighten in their seats. _A clever boy- Did Jaina write this? Council you?_

  
“ Peace talks have been an open rumor since fall, and I am glad to have the rumor bear fruit even if it must be in such uncertain times. This is by all accounts, a watershed moment. The winter is brutal, savage, and unnatural. _All_ of our people starve and freeze at their posts. We are all under supplied, morality across all factions is decimated.” Wryn paused, closing his eyes for a moment before turning his hands up. “ I propose a unilateral cessation of conflict. Unconditional. A united campaign to find the source of the storms and famine.”

There was a long quiet. Then whispers, a smattering of questions, distorted by the echoes of the cold chamber. Wryn did a decent job of mediating. _At first_. Until he made 'unconditional' very clear. Then they were loud, raucous until they were called to order. _And by Baine no less._. _Good. That's good._ It would reflect well upon Sylvanas later. _  
_Sylvanas listened carefully under a posture of feigned disinterest. She cataloged the points of import, contested grounds, real honest concerns for supplies and food- until the complaints, and objections turned ad hominem and came fast and furious from both sides. _Petty_.

Sylvanas bit her tongue, and thought of the troll children freezing in their beds. Of their mothers begging for death- pleading with Sylvanas to kill and raise them so they would not have to abandon their families, so they could spare resources for their children... She gritted her teeth against the infighting of the dwarves, the blame games playing out around the table.  
 _Loud. Boring. Predictable._ She would not participate in that. It would not serve her. _Unconditional could be unconditional acceptance._ It kept her poised at the edge of her seat, her ears up. Jaw firmly closed. No threats, no cutting remarks, not one ruffled feather.

“No, that is not... If you would only listen...”  
She knew that voice so well. Her ears rotated, and her eyes followed. _Oh_.

  
On the other side of the war table Jaina was valiantly trying to intercede on behalf of- _who- Everyone_. Jaina was at the heart of it. She brought up valid points of reference, was unbiased, calmly placated one party member- only for a different one to rise spitting vitriol and claiming to be the wronged. All the voices blurred together as Sylvanas continued to stare at Jaina. The curve of her neck, the wisps of hair framing her cheeks... And then the only thing that existed was the sound of Jaina's voice and the shape of her mouth. Nothing else, just Jaina's mouth and all the lecherous things Sylvanas wanted to do.  
  
A vision, _a day dream_ , - Sylvanas binding Jaina to the war table. The things Jaina would whisper into her ear, the way her tongue could move against her- Belore Sylvanas missed that tongue- the filth Jaina moaned, and the soft, honest words of praise; Comfort that was somehow more salacious then the sound of skin on skin. A terrible traitorous knot of feelings in Sylvanas's chest swelled- and she burned to work her frustration between the mage's toned thighs, until the sounds Jaina made drowned out the rest of the world. To pin those perfect wrists to the table above her head and sink her teeth into her shoulder and-

Sylvanas blinked hard.

Jaina looked unwell. _Worn_. Sylvanas couldn't be sure at a distance and shadowed in torches and flickering mage light, but she looked chronically underslept. Too underfed for sure. Overworked. Sylvanas didn't like the wan cast to Jaina's face as it tightened in concentration, or the darkness under her eyes. Or the hollows of her cheeks.

Her fingers itched for her bow. The urge to hunt, to provide should have died with her. _Alas._ The ribbon on her wrist itched, a paltry stand in for a mating mark, but it felt heavy with the obligation to prove herself a worthy partner. She should say something. She didn't.  
  
“Never-”  
“-if you'd only-”  
“- endured for years-”  
“- if you think for one second-”

“- please consider-”  
  
Nearly everyone had risen, pockets of isolated fury with voices loud in conflict. _Not two factions- a thousand fractured tribes_. Even the Wryn boy- _non confrontational as he is_ \- was drawn in. Seconds were summoned to hold back their lords, and the guards lining the room glanced nervously between each other. The only one still in their seat that Sylvanas could see from her vantage was Jaina. Her head down, pinching the bridge of her nose. Sylvanas watched Jaina's shoulders stiffen as yet another person cut her off- spoke over her. Sylvanas couldn't understand it- _why don't they simply obey her?_ Jaina had more sense, more experience suing for neutrality than almost anyone in the room. _They should be begging for her_ _intercession_.  
And then Jaina was not sitting.

She was standing, the wail of her chair slowly grinding back a deliberate, protracted sound. It cut through the raised voices like a hot knife through wax.  
All eyes turned to Jaina. She stood, distant and cool, drawing up a dark object from her lap. She let it hit the table. _A book- a file?_ \- It made a hearty cracking sound in the stillness. Hundreds of papers scattered in a plume, fanning erratically and spilling onto the floor in a cascade.

 _A truly impressive collection_. _A good use of theatrics_. But Sylvanas approved. Belore, did she approve.

Colour had seeped into Jaina's cheekbones, but her voice was distressingly calm.

“I have templates for detailed trade petitions. Potential tax agreements between nations, factions, and city states. Forgiveness statutes and penance programmes-”  
Someone started to protest, but the glance Jaina volleyed their way could have killed an Old God. She continued, “ I have detailed projections and cost analysis graphs, tariffs and resettlement plans. Blueprints for new cities, more importantly- Provisional food share and distribution models - and all of this in several preferred languages.” She made a wide gesture towards the mess of papers and her voice sharpened into a spear, an icelance “However, since literacy nor empathy seem to be the skill of the hour- perhaps you can give the parchment to your people to eat instead. Tides know they'll try soon enough.”

Sylvanas's heart lurched, the token heavy against her chest. She did not think it had been possible for her to fall more deeply in l- _fondness_.

Jaina turned in the stunned silence, and Sylvanas's heart clenched for an entirely different reason. It was madness that Jaina didn't have a guard. Attendants, a retinue, an honor guard of some kind. Jaina had just spat in the face of every major world leader, and she was showing her back on the way out the door. _Madness._ Sylvanas's eyes locked on the notch of vertebrae, her neck exposed by the sweep of her braid. They were the most delicate things she had ever seen. She ached to cradle them, to exert pressure. To press her lips there. To hear Jaina her gasp her name.

“Jaina-” It wasn't Wryn that called her.  
 _Whisperwind_. The familiarity of the tone, of the address, made Sylvanas bristle. “Jaina, please.”

The press of Theron's heavy palm against her forearm checked Sylvanas's tell. She hadn't even realized her hand was inching to her weapons. It wasn't as if Tyrande would draw blood, with so many witnesses. _Only I would do something so foolish. Apparently._ She brushed his fingers in acknowledgment and dropped her hand back to the arm rest.

  
Jaina inclined her head,“High Priestess.” She did not halt her departure. Did not turn her head, “There are transcriptions in Darnassian, for your convenience.”

Sylvanas felt her lips part, felt the tangle of pride, satisfaction and _fondness_. She didn't mind openly staring at Jaina as she left. Everyone else was too.  
  
“I think...” Anduin said calmly, before there was time for anything else, “ Now is an opportune time for a recess. If you are agreeable, we can resume in a few hours.”  
  


Theron was at her side, “ _They were out the door before she was._ ”  
Sylvanas nodded. “ _Good_.”

He was saying something else, but Sylvanas wasn't hearing him. She needed to find Jaina- _likely upto her eyeballs in some snow drift_ \- and sink her fingers into her. She needed to wrap her arms around her, cradle her. Make sure she'd been fed. She did not know if there would be another chance, another time.

His hand was on her arm again. “ _Go. I'll wait here._ ”

Her eyes shot up to lock with his, and she couldn't find any judgment there.  
She left.  
  
  
A squall had picked up outside, wind and ice and pennants snapping at abandoned posts. It obscured any trail that Jaina might have made. Though, Sylvanas reflected, Jaina was an arch mage, she could have easily decided not to leave signs of her passage weather notwithstanding. However, the burn and pull of Jaina's acane signature was far to familiar for Sylvanas. She'd been... intimate with it, had been steeped in it- could find that signature anywhere.

Then again, it could have been a trail left on purpose- _maybe I am not the only one she has dalliances with_ \- _Perhaps I'm playing into her hands_. For all of her compassion softness, Jaina was capable and gifted with a sharp mind. Was as capable of manipulation, powerful enough a player in events to want a hand in how things spun out. _And by the sun, had she looked it too_. Powerful, furious and controlled. Devastating and competent. Just the right amount of spite, of frustration-Sylvanas shook her head. The time and effort that Jaina must have poured into those contracts, treaties and addendum- just to be dismissed out of hand. She did not want to consider the headache.

Sylvanas followed the hum of magic, and found Jaina a few miles away, tucked neatly into the ruins of an abandoned pleasure garden. Velonara nodded to her resolutely and melted away as Sylvanas gained. She saw a flicker of movement and Anya saluted, before making a few brief hand gestures. _Perimeter secure. Maintaining a watch_. Sylvanas signed her approval, and sloped in around the caved in wall of a broken trellis.

The garden was an ethereal thing. It must have been a druids project once, or training ground - everything had been lush, in full bloom before being plunged into winter. Perfectly preserved buds and crystalline flowers glittering even in the gloaming. The wind that ripped over the city seemed almost respectful here, artistic even, rustling the vines and flowerbeds; rousing them to a muted chorus of glass chiming. _Dead, but terribly lovely_. She didn't linger on the thought.  
  


Jaina stood in the middle, a pillar of life in the sea of frost. Around her feet, the snow was strange, a pattern almost- _Ah._ Sylvanas nearly smiled. _A map_. Radiating out from Jaina was a remarkably faithful transcription- a topographical map rendered in striking detail. It was an endearing sight, and the heady scent of Jaina's magic wasn't helping her _fondness_. Sylvanas let her foot falls be heard. Jaina didn't flinch, didn't respond with flight. Instead, magic burst around the courtyard, outlines of viciously well prepared wards. Jaina's voice crackled like her mana.

  
“Leave me.”  
  
Sylvanas hated the way her stomach dropped, bottomed out- the way her knees locked at the words. She tore her eyes away from the deep greens and blues of Jaina's robes and fixed herself firmly on the map. The world spreading out from beneath her spinning out like her thoughts, a kingdom rendered in ice and cutting detail. Sylvanas would leave. If this was the closure, so be it. She had closure then. She was turning, acid at the back of her throat, ready to take one last look- and then Sylvanas really noted where Jaina's feet were- geographically. The center of the compass rose, the heart of the map. Relief, pride, - a hot incoherent rush of emotion that Sylvanas refused to name but left her face feeling like it was steaming. Windrunner spire. She felt foolish, dramatic, elated.

  
“As you wish, Lady.”  
  


Sylvanas watched with growing delight, as the wards faltered and the magic dissipated. She relished the hitch of breath, and the quick turn as Jaina performed an abrupt about face- The way Jaina's features set in hostility eased into pleasure. The way all resistance fled before her.  
  
“Sylvanas,” Jaina's hands fluttered awkwardly, suddenly unsure of where they should be, now that they were not needed as weapons, “I-... I didn't know it was you.”  
  


Sylvanas resolutely didn't let 'fondness' on to her face now as she approached, instead electing to study the map further. She smiled, exhaling sharply in a shorthand for humor. The cartography was painfully well detailed. _And relabeled_. Landmasses, and features renamed after events and factions- features and disparaging names for their leaders. Sylvanas clasped her hands behind her back to avoid the temptation of touch.

“I had no idea you were a tax accountant and a cartographer, in addition to being Lord Admiral.”  
Jaina didn't wince at Sylvanas's dispassionate tone, or shy away from her rapid advance.

She only sighed.“What can I say, I'm multidimensional.”  
  
Close now, Sylvanas couldn't fail to notice how dark the circles under Jaina's eyes really were. Her skin seemed thinner. Her hair dull. Sylvanas wondered if she was forgoing her share of rations- _Likely, damn her bleeding heart_ \- or maybe things in Boralus really fared as poorly. Regardless- it was unacceptable. The creeping burn returned, the instinct to hut, to present favors of fruit and flesh and shining stones. _To provide_. It was was maddening. Sylvanas was struck with the wild fantasy of stalking back into the war room and demanding satisfaction for the condition of her-... _My what? Lover?_ . It sounded childish, like a dalliance that would fade. It didn't have the weight or permanence Sylvanas feared and craved. The persistence- like the way Jaina's heart beat on through the night while Sylvanas pressed her ear against her sleeping chest.

Sylvanas reached to one of her belt loops, and pulled free a small warped parcel. It was not extravagant, but Sylvanas hated being unprepared. Even more so where Jaina was concerned. She held it out.  
“When was the last time you ate?”  
Jaina eyed her curiously, a bird of prey with bright, uncertain eyes. Her chin came up. “I've had my share.”  
Sylvanas spotted a bench out of the lee of the wind, half claimed by snow and glazed roses. She moved to it, “That is not what I asked.”

She was relieved when Jaina's feet crunched along behind her. She set the parcel in Jaina's lap when she sat. Then joining her, Sylvanas looked nowhere in particular as she continued,  
  
“You spoke well.”  
Jaina scoffed, a bitter sound, “Not so that anyone could hear.”  
“I heard you.”

Slowly, Jaina unwrapped the wax paper around the salted meat. So slow. Instinct had demanded she bring it, but now Sylvanas was really glad she had. She hoped that if she kept complimenting her, Jaina would eat the damned thing. It would be a shame to start an international incident if she had to kidnap and force feed her.

“The way you addressed them all,” Sylvanas said crisply, “ Like a Queen- they heard you. You commanded their attention.

Jaina just stared at her lap, until finally Sylvanas couldn't resist needling her.  
“Summoning food, or transmuting it doesn't rewrite the properties of matter. You're running a deficit.”  
Another bitter grunt. “Everyone is.”  
“I would prefer you weren't.” Sylvanas's words were maybe too sharp, too close on the heels of Jaina's but they did soften the mage's expression.

“I... That is... kind of you.”

  
Sylvanas made a dismissive gesture, stretching her legs out, and crossing her ankles. She did not say that she burned with shame- that she could only bring a few handfuls of withered meat, when once she could have brought Jaina the strongest buck in the wood. Gratitude over such a small thing made her feel more a shadow of her former self than any mirror could. It was suddenly far too important to Sylvanas for Jaina to eat what she’d offered. Too necessary to flatter her, to recite poetry, to go through the proper steps to-. Sylvanas rolled her shoulders, and squared her jaw. Smothered the impulse.

“Yes, yes... Be quiet now, eat, and let me praise you.”

Jaina huffed, but she did begin to break into the food.

  
“ The amount of effort such exhaustive preparations must have cost- and the time coaching Anduin through that speech... You have more patience than you are given credit for.”  
  
Jaina swallowed, and Sylvanas hated how eager Jaina seemed, how deliberately she chewed.

  
“And I commend your restraint- not many could act as you do.”

  
Jaina was already shaking her head, setting aside the parcel, “- But no one listens .”  
Sylvanas slipped an arm over the back of the bench, trying to relax muscles that yearned for action. _Touch, sooth, caress_ -taste. Instead she arranged her cloak just so, so that if Jaina moved, she wouldn't have to lean against the cold metal and stone. So that she would be close.

  
“No one ever does.” Jaina's voice was defeated, “They never do- not to me, not before it’s too late. Like all the old prophets- cursed to know, and never be believed.”  
Jaina turned, staring at Sylvanas as snowflakes settled in her hair, “People are going to die- and not in small quantities. More dead of disease and famine, a higher body count than any war has ever lain claim to... We- the council of mages, we've been trying to figure out a source of the storms- but-”  
  
“If these are state secrets I urge you not to-”

  
“It's no secret we know nothing. Enough magic, enough abuse of it has bleed into the very heart of the world - anything could be the source of this imbalance....”  
  


  
Jaina continued to speak, describing facets of magic use that Sylvanas would have normally found as interesting as watching leather soak for tanning, but were somehow fascinating when Jaina described them. When Sylvanas put the food back in Jaina's reach, ripped into a manageable portions, Jaina ate it from her hand without thinking. _Such trust_. Sylvanas's base instincts and 'fondness' sang. _It could have been poisoned_. It could have been a hundred other unpleasant things. Sylvanas continued to listen as Jaina poured out her frustration, her fear- the desperation with which she'd helped Anduin prepare for the summit, the unrest and distrust and fear in alliance cities. And while Sylvanas listened, that insidious unnamed emotion stalked closer to her, wrapped itself around her throat. It whispered to her, to indulge, protect, defend. Equally, it urged her to escalate, to claw and mark and brand and ruin. _An apex beast jealously protecting its territory_. It wasn't a generous thought, but it wasn't entirely untrue. Jaina however, was an entirely different animal. Selfless, compassionate, dedicated and tenacious. Despite all that Sylvanas knew she was capable of, Jaina seemed small in the half circle of her arm; a slip of a person in an ocean of cloth and snow. _Small and tired._ Sylvanas wanted to say something gentle, invite contact. _Let me hold you? Too forward..  
  
_ Shoulder to shoulder on the bench, Jaina's head bent close to hers Sylvanas felt they were far, far to exposed. Too close. Too vulnerable. Too- and then something finally coalesced. Solidified behind her breast bone and the scar tissue painting her torso... _fuck it_.  
  
“Lean on me. You look terrible.”  
 _What a poet died with me._  
  


Jaina's eyes squeezed shut, and she laughed one of those striking, full bodied laughs. The one that reminded Sylvanas of weeping.  
“I suppose I do.”  
But her head went back, pillowed on Sylvanas's arm, looking up into the stormy sky. _Finally in my arms._  
“If I- If none today agrees to see reason, I will go with the Archmages. The Council of Six have asked me to join them. I may be able to do the most good there....” She pressed her cheek into Sylvanas's bicep, looking up into her face. Her expression was sorrowful, laden with regret as she sat back up. Sylvanas almost protested, but Jaina was already speaking “ Sylvanas... I don't think I'll be free to help you with the spire. Not the way I promised. Not publicly.”

Sylvanas's throat was dry, a psychological urge to swallow. Anger flared in her stomach. A familiar rage called, a fury at the world for having the nerve to try and steal away something good. Anything good. To steal the same pleasure a second time. The jewelry in her pocket felt hot enough to burn through her leathers and down into the heart of the earth. Maybe this was closure, maybe this would be another last time. Another goodbye in a field of flowers.  
 _Then I had best enjoy it_.

  
Sylvanas said nothing in response at first. Then she began slowly, aware of the painful attention Jaina watched her with, “ We are in public now.”  
“ Yes...?” the curiosity mixed with remorse made Sylvanas more certain of what she wanted .  
“Perhaps you can still help me. In public.”  
Sylvanas wanted to remember Jaina's features the expression, coy, confused, and amused. Wanted to make a new memory, one she wouldn't forget. One that she could hold onto.  
“Oh? What would you have me do?”

Sylvanas folded her hands on her lap, “A simple thing really,” She made a show of looking Jaina up and down, and then settled on her damned mouth. “A kiss, a count of three. Nothing more.”

  
Jaina's eyebrows knit in mild surprise, “ At a gathering of all your enemies?”

Sylvanas scoffed, “Hardly all. Besides,” She cocked her head to the side, calculated flirtation, “You wouldn't let them touch me.”

She had expected a smile, a gentle scolding, and not the instant strength of Jaina's resolute response, “Not a hair on your head.”  
The moment passed, and Sylvanas was relieved when Jaina continued along with her game.  
“So, when do you want that kiss?”  
“I'll be sure to tell you when.” She answered, leaning back into her easy sprawl against the bench. She watched the way Jaina watched her. The wanting was terribly good her for her ego, for the sadness bubbling underneath her skin. She let the moment go, until, flustered and unsure, _wanting_ , Jaina asked

  
“.... Is there anything else you want?”  
  
Quick like a snake, Sylvanas dropped her voice and said smoothly, “Put your hand under your robes.”  
  
Jaina’s fingers twitched to obey, but stopped, eyes darting around the garden, over the still landscape muffled under the slow snowfall.  
“Are we alone...”  
“Alone? I thought you wanted to help me. Publicly...”

The conflict that flitted over Jaina dissolved as Sylvanas let her gaze rest heavy and promising on her. On her hands, her chest, her hips. Jaina shifted minutely, one of her arms disappearing into the heavy folds of her greatcoat and cloaks.

  
“... what do you have in mind?”

  
Jaina looked so pink, so vibrant. The idea of painting stinging stripes along the backs of her thighs seemed like poetry, and Sylvanas spoke before she could plan the encounter properly.

“I had toyed with the idea of leather... supple and well tooled leather.”  
“Has my weight loss been that obvious?”  
Sylvanas swallowed back her laugh, and lied, “No. But your sharp tongue should be brought to heel... Like the rest of you.”  
Sylvanas edged a hand towards Jaina's, spread open on the bench between them. She linked their fingers, just their pinkies. A gesture easily over looked if someone did manage to get past Velonara and Anya's watch.  
“So no,” She purred, relishing Jaina's reactions, the flutter of eyelashes, the pulse in her throat, “Not a belt. A collar.” That sharp inhale as Jaina's eyes closed, “ I've often heard you called 'The Alliance bitch' and that won’t do. Not for someone like you. No, you should wear a collar only for _me_. Be the _Warchief's_ bitch.”  
  


Jaina's mouth was a tight line, and Sylvanas watched with rapt attention a subtle shift beneath Jaina's clothes. Jaina drew her lip between her teeth, breathing slowly out through her nose.  
  
“Would you like that?”  
“I....”

Her sigh was so sweet, Sylvanas pressed on, leaning in fractionally.  
“Yes? Yes, I think you would. I'd have you well trained- you’d present so prettily for me- I'd suffer no less. You'd love it, wouldn't you? You'd be eager and- Jaina, if you're going to touch yourself for me, you'll do it right. Answer me or stop.”  
  


Jaina swallowed, eyes opening to meet hers, “I would- I would like it. Would I be on my knees for you Sylvie?”  
  
The name hit her like a punch to the guts, but she made a show of bored consideration. “Why shouldn't you be? You do enjoy being servile... and since I'm fond of you, I'd even let you service me. If you begged prettily enough, I'd let you service me right under the table.”

  
Jaina shuddered, and Sylvanas squeezed their interlocked fingers. She wanted to do so many things, so many marvelously carnal things, but the distant reminder that they would have to return to the war room was too sobering a notion. _Not a hair on her head out of place_. Hard when she wanted to wrap that braid around her fist. Difficult when she wanted to sear each breath Jaina took into her memory. Impossible when she wanted to -

“You're wet aren't? I know you are.”  
  
Jaina had caught her lip between her teeth, eyes closed in concentration, breath misting out into the cold.  
  
“Answer me.”

  
Jaina groaned, and then as if the sound had surprised her, gasped. Sylvanas crossed and uncrossed her ankles, a ploy to put off her own building needs. She focused on the hardly there rise and fall of fabric in Jaina’s lap.

  
“That’s it. Not too fast. Touch yourself how I would.”  
Jaina's words tumbled out in a rush “How would you have me?”  
“Today?”  
“Yes- Today, today in public.”

Sylvanas did her absolute best not to jump out of her skin. She ground her teeth, resisting the hunger and lust, resisted wrapping herself around Jaina in a dark mass of hunger and _\- and a deep seeded affection_. She moved in, as close as she dared, and whispered into the shell of Jaina's ear.

  
“Today? Being under the table aroused you….I'd have you on your knees, draped over my leg. I'd make a mess of you, ride your mouth the way I know you like me too.”  
Jaina's throat worked as she panted, her nostrils flaring wide. She leaned into the sound of Sylvanas’s voice. Jaina risked lacing the rest of their fingers, stroking along the inside of her wrist and Sylvanas allowed it, monitoring the stain of red blush racing up Jaina's neck, and down into the collar of her clothes. _Magnificent._ She wanted to bite. She didn’t.

  
“If you were passable with that tongue of yours, I'd let you work yourself against my boot- and if you were terribly lucky I might even let you come.”  
  
“How generous.” Jaina's voice was tremulous, laced with humor and desire. “I wish you were touching me.”  
“I am.” Sylvanas squeezed their fingers, “You're just greedy.”  
Jaina frowned, her voice velvety and coated in longing “I…. I want to feel you spreading me open.”

Sylvanas nearly moaned. Jaina’s grip on her wrist shouldn’t have felt so suggestive.  
“The filth you utter, My Lady.”  
“Not your lady,” Jaina sighed, “ The Warchief’s bitch.”  
Sylvanas closed her eyes against those words. They shouldn't have sounded so good. She couldn't help it, she brushed her nose against Jaina's ear, exhaled into it to watch Jaina squirm and shudder. And then Jaina's head was on her shoulder, pressing their sides together, shoulder to elbow. Such chaste contact shouldn't have made Sylvanas so hot, so wet. Jaina’s mouth was against her ear, her lips just brushing skin,“Tell me, what would you do? Would you let me come? Will you let me come now-”

  
“-no. Not yet.”  
Sylvanas's voice was low and husky, indulging in the contact, hyper aware of each smooth roll of motion under Jaina's skirts, “No.No, first, I'd have you by the collar, gasping, and haul you up on that war table. Make you a spectacle, a paragon of whimpering submission. I’d paint your ass such a pleasing shade of rose- I know how you like it. I would not be gentle. I would devour you, while they watched, until you were begging me to just fuck you. To finally just fuck you.”

  
Jaina gasped sharply her teeth clicking in the air, and Sylvanas felt herself clench, the roll of her hips in response. A snowflake landed on her lip.  
Jaina dropped her head back against Sylvanas’s shoulder as she mumbled, “I wish you would. I wish you would right now. I wish…” Her voice trailed off into a soft whine.  
  
Gingerly, Sylvanas rested her chin against the top of Jaina's head. “Do you have any idea how badly I want to lift your skirts and have you now?”  
“About as badly as I want you to.”  
Sylvanas worked her free hand, gripping the metal armrest of the bench. The encounter was a bit more intense than she had intend. She had only wanted-  
  
“Sylvanas, may I touch you?”  
Sylvanas shook her head sharply, “If we return with-”  
“No not like that,” Jaina's voice was too lovely, too rich, “Like this.”  
A moment later, Sylvanas was sitting rigid as she felt Jaina's fingers glide over her aching clit. _Not mine- hers._  
“Filthy. Jaina, you're obscene.”  
“Is that yes?”  
“Very.”

 _Eloquent._  
“What would you do then?”  
Sylvanas grasped desperately for the threads of the fantasy in spite of the pleasure sinking into her.

“I-Belore- Jaina, I would fuck you. Of course I would- anything you asked. I'd wrap my fist around your braid and give you what you asked for. Fill you well- the way only I can. You'd cry for me- a bitch in heat. Can you imagine how beautiful your voice would sound? Echoing in that vaulted chamber? I can, Jaina _,_ a symphony just for me. And the council of course.”  
  
Jaina's breath was staccato, hot and fast against Sylvanas's neck. By force of will alone, Sylvanas had managed not to stutter, not to let her voice break, but it was a near thing. Jaina was good with her hands, gods, she was. Ears angled towards Jaina, Sylvanas fought to keep still, to keep composure and not to thrust or buck or demand. Sylvanas thought she might come before Jaina did if she kept this up.

“You're-” Jaina's voice hitched on a groan, “ Tides, would you--?”  
“Would I what?” Sylvanas's tone was breathier than she would have liked, but Jaina didn't seem to mind, in fact, based on the sinful, frantic pace of her fingers she enjoyed it. Sylvanas opened her mouth to carry on, but again her tongue rebelled, instinct slotting in; “Would I collar you? Does that appeal?”  
  


Jaina groaned, smiling through her pleasure as her hips flexed, “It certainly doesn't repulse me.”  
Sylvanas felt electric, eager, too raw. She'd followed jaina, fed her, flattered and courted her, and now sex made her stupid. “Would you wear it? My mark, where others could see?”

  
Jaina's movement stuttered, stopped, then Sylvanas felt her fingers slide in- thrust and curl. It felt like the sun had come, had burned away the clouds and snow, heat raced in eddies through her spine and down her legs as Jaina curled and thrust again. And Again.

  
“Yes. Sylvanas, yes.” _Curl and thrust_ \- “Yes I would,” A quaking gasp _\- curl and thrust_ \- “If you asked me to.”

“Right now, I'm not asking it-“ _Again_ \- “ I'm commanding it. Come.”

With Jaina muffling the sound of her climax against her shoulder, Sylvanas thought she could die happily. If this was closure, it wouldn't be so bad. The smell of sex, and of Jaina’s magic and the cold clean air seemed the most decadent of indulgences. Pleasure hummed and ebbed through her on gentle waves and faded gradually as Jaina's breathing slowed.   
  
“Mmhm.” Jaina rolled her shoulders, turning her head, seeking out Sylvanas's gaze, “What was that about?”  
  


The momentary peace and contentment Sylvanas had experienced, constricted into a point and burst out into a churning nest of vipers. _Closure?_ _Caught out exposed. A last stand._ Her token lost with her life in a field of flowers. Anxiety chewed at her heels, and she hesitated. The pause went on for too long, and Jaina's brows knit in concern.

“Sylvanas?”

  
“But would you like it?” Sylvanas couldn't believe it. The words had stumbled out of her mouth like drunk soldiers from a tavern. Didn't stop, “Being marked like that?”

  
“What?” Jaina turned their hands over, trying to sooth Sylvanas with playfulness as she often did, “Do you have collar in your pocket now?”

She couldn't stop now that she'd started, and she listened to herself with horror, speaking as if from a distance, “Not as such. But it’s no less salacious an accessory.”  
  


Jaina's face was bright and open. _Cute_. Freckles painted her face, healthier looking now from exertion, or affection, or the food. Her eyes were still wide and soft and her mouth looked inviting, like it should be swollen with Sylvanas's kisses. Before Sylvanas could make an executive veto, her hand slipped into her pocket, and deposited the little pouch into Jaina's palm.  
  


Jaina watched Sylvanas's jerky, anxious movements, and wiped her other hand clean in the snow before examining the small velvet bag. It seemed like a thousand life times passed before she pulled the drawstring and let the earring roll into her hand.  
And then crushing silence.

Only Jaina's heart beat and her breath stirring the frozen flowers above them to tinkle and chime in the dead garden.  
  
_Let me taste true death._

It was stereotypical of Sylvanas perhaps, of her, of her position. _Its terribly trifling. Of course she doesn't want it._ The piece was in two parts. The bar a liquid, glossy amethyst capped on one end with silver fetching, and the other a threaded obsidian triangle. A painstakingly accurate miniature of her own arrows. As ring, it was meant to be worn through the longer upper cartilage of an elven ear, but Sylvanas was sure she'd sized it right- would have appreciated how exotic it would look through Jaina's smaller ears and against her white hair. And because Sylvanas knew that she was a sentimental fool, she'd made a ring too; a highly polished stone set in the tines of matched arrows. Something that she would wear if Jaina accepted- but that she'd hidden in the ruins of the spire's foundation. Carrying it around had seemed the height of folly. She'd never really intended to go through with it all. _As if Jaina would say yes_. As if she'd punch holes in her body for Sylvanas's own vanity. Who would scar themselves for her like that? _Laughable._

  
Jaina was still, her expression carefully empty.  
  
Sylvanas wasn't used to her like this. Jaina was always telling her something, always filling in the silences somehow, never letting Sylvanas brood, or become too mired in self-loathing. She hated that she'd silenced that. That their banter was stiff, a dead thing, sharp and drawn like those rats and that mourning dove. Sylvanas wanted to take back the silly arrow and fling it into the snow.  
  
“You... you don't have to accept right away, or ever. I...” Sylvanas couldn’t lose whatever this because she'd been a grasping fool. _There must be a way to salvage this_.  
Even when Jaina finally did find a tactful way to refuse the pendant, Sylvanas reasoned, it didn't have to mean that they couldn't touch. Couldn't speak. Couldn't write _. You can be ashamed of me- but do not cast me off. You can refuse- but do not abandon me._ If Sylvanas framed it right, if she was perfect, she might not have to lose anything.

But Jaina remained statuesque, lips slightly parted. Sylvanas couldn't weather the stillness. She took Jaina's jaw in hand, tilted her head to meet her eyes. “I understand. You do not have to say it. I will leave now.”  
  
Sylvanas stood stiff and awkwardly. She didn't want the cursed thing back, but leaving it with Jaina seemed to humiliating, too personal. It felt like it demanded some sort of explanation.

“Forgive my selfishness.... I did not wish to miss the occasion to present you with my token.” She didn't say _Again,_ but it stuck and clogged her throat like sour wine.  
  
Jaina blinked owlishly at her. _Confused? Did she not know before?_

Jaina shook her head, a statue come to life, finally speaking, “Yes.”

  
Sylvanas choked. “... What?”

“Yes.” Jaina rose, calmly, gracefully, closing the distance again. She looked like a sunrise, a man-of-war in full sail, and Sylvanas was weak. She stepped back again.  
“Just like that?”  
“Put it in me.”  
“ _Pardon me_?”  
“Marry me.”  
  
Jaina seemed luminous, larger than life. _She looks like some painting, some idea of Light made flesh._ Alive, suddenly vibrant in the snow. Sylvanas reached for snark, acerbic wit. Anything to shield her from the sudden violent change in her emotions. The tenderness and the tide of euphoria rising towards her so fast on the heels of heartache. She'd drown if those feelings reached her.  
“Marry you for what... starving surfs?”

  
“Marry me” Jaina walked her fingers up the heavy edge of horde embroidery on Sylvanas's cloak, “so I can give you that three second kiss.”  
“Steep price, that.”

Jaina fisted her hand around the earring, moving fearlessly into Sylvanas's personal space. Her tone was huskier, more attractive than it had any right to be.

“Marry me,” a rolling drawl that sent heat spearing into her belly, “ so I can crawl on hands and knees to your throne. Give you head in the ruins of Lorderan. Marry me so I can call you my Queen and wear your mark in my skin.”  
“.... that...” Sylvanas couldn't remember a time where she so badly needed a glass of water, or to sit down. She croaked, “ That... escalated.”

  
Jaina paused. Then she was laughing again. She reached for Sylvanas's arms, and Sylvanas was helpless to resist. Jaina pulled her around, trampling the map underfoot, spinning and breathless. Sylvanas knew that the snow should have been malicious, should have been a pressing and firm reminder of the struggle of her people, of the pain of being alive, of people freezing and starving and begging for mercy. But right now... _it was beautiful_. Caught on Jaina's hair like gems, framing her eyelashes, glittering on her clothes.

A hundred political reasons why she shouldn't agree with the proposal announced themselves loudly to her already beleaguered mind. _Fuck it_.

  
The press of instinct and the pull of acceptance, of Jaina's damned eager caress and her soft welcoming skin. Sylvanas kissed her. Jaina kissed her back, perfectly, passionately, roughly and Sylvanas accepted it. Folded her in close and let Jaina kiss her exactly as she wished to for three seconds. Jaina's teeth grazed her lip as she pulled away, the sting vivid and perfect against the wind rattling the broken trellis.  
  
Then Jaina seemed to pause. Stunned. The kind of self reflection where Sylvanas could see the wheels in her mind turning. The implications of the actions they'd taken. Jaina's fingers wrapped around Sylvanas's wrists, found the edge of green ribbon that had won free. A slow smile started to creep its way into her face. _Her eyes reek of mischief._  
  


“If we return looking different than we did when we left we won't have time to frame a narrative that-”

Jaina interrupted her, her smile big enough to blast holes into warships, “How do you feel about wedding the Lord Admiral? Truly?”

Sylvanas already hadn't anticipated her proposal being flipped upon her in such a jarring fashion. She also hadn't expected a fast, and furiously public affirmation. She stepped back, but Jaina was already unbuckling her heavy coat, and then reaching for her anchor pendant. She unclasped the necklace, holding it out to Sylvanas.  
“Until I can make something worthy of you. That ribbon is darling, but this... this is better.”

“What? No dowry?” Sylvanas was reeling, still in the shaky scaffolding of sarcasm, a poor defense against the surge about to crush her, “ Is this a marriage of convenience?”  
  
“You are not a convenient match.” Jaina rejoined briskly, still holding out her pendant, “You are a necessary one. For me.”  
“ This... may complicate peace.” Sylvanas said lamely, indicating the ruined map beneath them.  
“They complicate it enough themselves. Besides, true rulers make an example of themselves.”

Sylvanas couldn't help it, Jaina’s smile, the insistence. She stepped toward her again, “Some example you'll be, chained and collared at my feet.”  
Jaina gave her a cheeky smile, “ You don't want me to express obedience and devotion to my Queen?”

  
Sylvanas could only shake her head. It was better than letting Jaina see how her hands were trembling. How badly she wanted to close her eyes and cry.  
“Good, now let me put this around your neck.”

Dazed, floating, Sylvanas didn't refuse. The anchor felt like the sun, a star thrumming away against her ribs. She thought she could hear the churn of the sea roaring in her ears. At Jaina's continued insistence and persistence they swapped their outer coats. _This is a terrible idea. The world is in ruin. I'm engaged._ It seemed par for the course.

Jaina touched her ear briefly then urged the earring back into Sylvanas's hands. “Do it. Please.”  
The request was somehow sweeter than Jaina being debased, and Sylvanas couldn't quite work her head around it. She tucked a strand of Jaina's hair back into place.  
“Have you numbed it?”  
“The cold has. Don't tell me when, just-”  
Sylvanas was mercifully quick.

A drop of red in the blue snow.

  
Sylvanas frowned.  
  
“They may say I drew first blood. What if I've breached the terms of parlay?” She was only marginally teasing. It could be enough to start a war, in the right hands. A sour taste bloomed at the back of her throat, but died as Jaina reached a hand up to cup her jaw.  
Jaina ran a thumb over Sylvana's lower lip. “No. I did.”

She pulled her thumb away, a bit of dark ichor on her skin, and she smeared it over the back of her opposite hand.

“I meant what I said before. If they come for you- _anyone_ \- I won’t suffer them to touch you.”

  
Sylvanas knew she meant it. It was a terrifying thing. She didn't trust it.

“You and what army?”  
“ Me, and your army.” Jaina said plainly, reaching up to adjust the buckles and straps across Sylvanas's chest, “ And my navy, of course.”  
“Will they follow you?”  
Jaina grunted a wry, exasperated sound, “I am the only reason the fish haven't abandoned the coasts. Why the deep currents haven't shifted, why the sea is calm enough to cast nets. Abandon me? They whisper I'm a gift from the Tide Mother. Where I go, Kul Tiras will follow. Or they'll die”  
  
Sylvanas hadn't expected that. _Haven’t expected an awful lot today_. She managed to nod sagely even as the smell of Jaina's blood, her magic, and her clothes smothered her in a kind of comfort she hadn't known since before frostmourne had carved its way through her.

“Its settled then.” It felt oddly final, oddly light in Sylvanas's mouth. “I assume you have already drafted paperwork.”  
“In triplicate no less,” Jaina finally finished fussing, “Though not for a marriage, but a formal alliance. However, a state marriage will require an entirely different set for a betrothal, and joining of estates.”  
  


Reflexive, defensive bitterness welled up before Sylvanas could swallow it. “Is that how we will frame this?” Sylvanas hated how small her voice sounded.

  
Jaina paused, considering the options spread out before them. Her fingers ghosted up over Sylvanas's bar through her ear and it looked so, so perfect there. _Like it should have always been there. Will always be there._

_  
Maybe she regrets the decision already. Maybe she's walking back from it right now, picking the right words to let me off gently._   
_We could be together without a state marriage. We could manage it, she doesn't have to be exposed to my reputation._

The words trickled out from her, sad, slow, “Jaina...I would prefer... not to make you a target.”

  
Jaina jerked her head, coming back from her thoughts, her fingers almost possessive over her ear, “You already have.” Her voice was playful, “When will you fill me with more than arrows?”

_She will be the death of me. Really and truly._ Pretty and in her cloak, wearing her mark and asking to be filled? _Gods. Let this be real._  
  


“We can say, out loud,” Jaina began, “ That it is for the good of our peoples. We can say whatever we like.” Then more slowly, calmly “But you and I both know, it’s because I love you. I would have no other.”

_She meant it._ Every time _. Every word_. Sylvanas thought she could taste the pink of her blush, thought Kul Tiran green and gold were the warmest colours as Jaina looped her arms around her neck again. Sylvanas muttered,

“We took matters into our own hands, after the council went poorly. Perhaps it will gall the others to know Jaina Proudmoore stooped to be my bride for peace.”  
“Not for peace.” Jaina smoothed her fingers over the lay of the double breasted coat, fitting it to Sylvanas's broader frame.

“No?”  
“No.” Jaina hadn't bothered with the hood of Sylvanas's garment, she didn't have the ears for it, but it sat on her well. She looked striking in the rich horde colors, white and maroon and eyes blue enough to cut. Sylvanas still couldn't believe she had Jaina's pendant beating away against her still chest. She wanted to finger it absently. Didn't.

Jaina shook her head again, and leaned up to kiss her. Painfully gentle, viciously sweet. When it ended, when the awful wave of fondness finally crushed her, Jaina was still holding her hands. Sylvanas’s fingers tightened reflexively. Her head was filled with hyacinth and chrysanthemums, with Jaina’s kisses, and the number of freckles across her nose - _15_ \- and the smile at the corner of her mouth. _Oh.  
_  
“I love you.”

Jaina moved like water in her embrace, melted against her in an ocean of warmth. Sylvanas didn’t think of much else, except holding Jaina to her, pressed firmly against the wind and the dying day in the preserved garden. Jaina seemed to be shaking, her face hidden in Sylvanas’s neck, warm and _maybe damp. Is she crying?_ So Sylvanas held her, whispered it into her hair again. “I love you”. Once she’d said it, she couldn’t seem to stop. She said it against her hair, her forehead, her ear, her cheek over and over again, until Jaina stopped shaking. Until Jaina cut her off with a kiss.

“Shall we go and be very shocking now? They’ll be looking for us soon.”

“You’re not afraid?”

“No- they should fear us. We’re going to change the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I accidentally wrote myself into a Politcal Marriage AU. I'm in trouble.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big storms, bigger feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no real defense for this. It's entirely self indulgent and escaped me in a major way. I just need a wife.

The day was clear cold and bright. Fair, and they rode the wind full sail. _And yet..._  
Jaina should have been exultant; They were on schedule to make port . She was going home, her mission a success, going to see her wife- _My wife-_ for the first time since the Signing. _The Coalition Pacts- ? Unity Papers? Unilateral Cessation Agreements?_ She could not keep track of what it was being called now. She could not care less what the bards were singing, or about what they said of her. Jaina had her ship, had her wife, was finally achieving something like peace. If the weather gauge held, Jaina would be home by dusk, in time for Sylvanas's birthday. The promise of Sylvanas waiting for her at the dock, of thoroughly spoiling her, was like a fire in her chest. _... But there it is again._ She braced herself firmly on the rolling deck of _Proudmoore; Legacy_ , and faced east. She frowned.  
 _Something is wrong._  
  


  
At first, Jaina had not been taken seriously. _I almost never am_. Her return with Sylvanas, together arm in arm, to council had been cause for some alarm. Jaina had explained herself clearly- without hesitation. _'We are engaged to be married.'_ Whispers had followed, nervous laughter, hot hissed outrage. But no belief. Tension, and hostility had prompted Jaina to stay at Sylvanas's side. When the whispers grew to shouts, Jaina had elected not to return to her seat - not even when Anduin had beckoned. Instead, she'd lead Sylvanas back to where Lor'themar stood, and she'd pulled out Sylvanas's seat herself. Jaina had smoothed the burgundy and maroon of her new coat, tenderly adjusted Sylvanas's collar and addressed the room at large, _'Gentle People, my Wife'._ She knew there were raised voices at that, venom and confusion, but she'd only had eyes for Sylvanas then. Every inch a queen, peerless, untouchable. _Mine_. The contrast of her skin against the Admiralty greatcoat, and the faint glow of the anchor on her chest was a memory Jaina cherished. _How strong, how proud she had looked. How confidant, regal and poised._ The best part had been, that there was nothing anyone could do about it. Jaina had tilted her head back, defiant, the bar in her ear glittering darkly in the low light. Daring someone to move. _  
  
“If you've a desperate need to martyr yourself -” Graymane-  
“-I tried martyrdom once,” Sylvanas had purred “I assure you, I wouldn't sample it again.”_  
  
The memory made Jaina smile.  
The rest of those meetings had been tedious, a grinding review of Jaina's treatises and plans- revisions. Appointments- jockeying for position and status in a new power structure. _Foolish._ But those assembled _had_ bent, they _had_ listened. _Finally_.  
The ink hadn't been dry on the page before Jaina had been officially tasked to Dalaran, to a fleet - and away from Sylvanas. Jaina however, had insisted that an interim marriage certificate be drawn up immediately. She would have it signed and witnessed, before she would consider leaving the War Room at all. Abandoning Sylvanas without a shield, a legitimacy that couldn't be dissolved or assailed in her absence, would have been foolhardy and cruel at best. There had been no time for more than a token resistance, and after that, no time for more than three copies of the betrothal to be made and signed. Duty was calling.  
  


Of course there had been no celebration. No means, no time and no mood. That suited Jaina. She wanted neither feast nor ball, nor a public reception or coronation. She wanted quiet days in the library reading to the rasp of Sylvanas honing her collection of hunting knives. The approval of her people, of anyone, would come when they were fed and protected by her hand; would come when the wars were snuffed out. _There will be time for celebration then_. It would happen, Jaina would _make_ it happen.  
  
  


Jaina had kissed Sylvanas goodbye, naturally, on the docks in Boralus; the way a good sailor does their sweetheart. In the shadow of her grand fleet's flagship Jaina had repeated,  
“ _No battles, no conflicts- You know this. Just depth sounding and arcana readings. Mages and sundry on a pleasure cruise for data.”_

“ _Then why are they sending a Kul Tiran gun ship?”  
“Not 'a' gun ship” She'd scoffed, cupping Sylvanas's chin, “ 'The' Gunship._ My _gun ship.”  
“...if its academic... why are _you _armed?”_

“ _There are still pirates and beasts.”_

 _Sylvanas flicked her eyes to the rail of_ Legacy _where her crew had gathered to see the spectacle of their farewell. They scattered. Sylvanas grimaced again, her touch lingering over Jaina's cutlass, glossing over aiguillettes at her shoulder, then the finely tooled belts and new brace of guns at Jaina's hips,  
“...Pistols?”  
“A wedding present from mother.”  
“Auspicious- weapons for a union.”  
“The note said; 'protect her, or put her in the ground'.”  
“Is that acceptance?”  
“From a Kul Tiran Noble? High praise.” Jaina had leaned in, kissed her well, “I'll be home soon.”  
S_he intended to make good on that promise.

“Daughter...”  
Jaina nearly startled at the sound of the Tide Sage's bassy voice so close to her ear. He had such a light tread, almost a glide. Unsettling for a man of his size and age.  
“Brother Pike” She bowed her head respectfully, tucking her nose into her cowl against the cold.  
Pike's kind face was grim, and his voice was hoarse, an old gull, “Something moves. Up above. And deep below.” He returned her nod, “But you know this.”  
  
“I do.” Jaina paused, scanning the horizon with resignation. She resisted grinding her heel down in frustration, “ We will not make port.”

 _I hate being late._  
He raised his face to the sky, “...No. The wind will change soon, all our tacking will be in vain.”  
  
Jaina closed her eyes took a breath as she drummed her fingers over the pear inlay of a pistol. _I shall have to send an apology_. _A gift._ She had just the thing in mind.  
“The storm first, Brother? Or the movers in the deep below?”  
  
“I will try to sing it to sleep.” Pike's tone was dour, “but I doubt it will heed.”  
Jaina was unsure which that answer applied too, but she was glad to have confirmation regardless.  
“I will give the orders to prepare.”

Jaina called out to her bos'n and soon the deck was a rush to obey. To reef and stow and remove what could be spared. They knew the mana storms now. The Kul Tirans among her crew hadn't given her any trouble and had adjusted quickly-other than their want to drink and gamble. Nor had the forsworn been an issue. Their trust had been implicit. It had been the elven mages and archanists who'd needed convincing of Jaina, and of sailing in general. It helped of course, that Jaina's first officer was Lady Liadrin. Jaina hadn't fought Sylvanas's insistence on Liadrian's appointment on board. It was the only thing Sylvanas had contested throughout the whole board meeting for the expedition, and Jaina had let it be. Though not a sailor by blood or birth, Liadrin had no short amount of experience on board, was no stranger to responsibility. Having a notoriously powerful paladin aboard and a cluster of her elite soldiers at hand in the event of a scuffle wasn't something Jaina was going to snub her nose at.  
  
Perhaps it had been Liadrin's stern support that had helped the elves at first, but they had come to hold Jaina in some degree of awe. _And our first mana squall cured any doubt._ Jaina had a reputation as a fair and capable captain, one that had followed her with the Kul Tiran contingency of her crew. Their current voyage had only cemented it. Fear and respect of course followed, discipline on a ship was paramount after all. But, so too were ritual, custom and leisure and Jaina diligently ensured all was dolled fairly. She regularly kept watch, sang and sparred with sailors, drilled and trained her gun decks. She reviewed and drilled boarding actions in the event of pirates. She went out in the dinghy herself to help take readings and delighted in the chance to help design more sensitive equipment. Though it was slightly warmer at sea, Jaina personally ensured that temperature wards on deck held, that snow removal detail was tasked fairly, that all rations were distributed equally. Jaina wanted to build the culture of her fleet, from the ground up, starting with her flagship. Example was the most expedient way to do so... _And I don't need a frostbitten interracial crew mutinying over pickled fish and potions._ If the flagship fell, the fleet was likely poisoned too.

 _And what massive fleet._ Principally, Jaina had ended the Signing with the position of Grand Admiral of the New Unified Fleet, _an exciting and dreadful position._ The rank would come with more headaches, logistics and paperwork than depths to the sea...but Jaina had to admit that she was the only one suited to it for it now. _Grand Admiral of – of whatever we're calling our forces now- already a mouthful..._ And despite the conditions under which they were sailing; the winter gales and bitter cold, the dire nature of their expedition -the importance of tracking the borders and intensity of the storms searching for a source... Jaina had missed this. Missed being on the sea, missed captaining a ship. Missed the complete control, and confidence of being in a position of unassailable command. A dangerous thought- _but true_. On the waves, at least, if felt as if she could do wrong, and she was _obeyed._

  
Jaina turned to address Brother Pike once more, but he was already out of sight. _Likely below decks again, whispering to the waves through the bulkheads_. She wished him success of it. Instead of the Tidesage, Liadrin, and one of her Blood Knights, hailed her. Jaina met them on the quarterdeck.  
  
“How close will we get to port, Grand Admiral?” Liadrin tones were crisp, formal as always.  
Jaina could never quite read her; Liadrin's expressions were so reserved, stoic. Jaina did not know the other knight well- _Brisyn, a spellbreaker by reputation_ \- though she was one of the few who would spar with the Kul Tirans and forsworn on deck. _Likely younger than most other elves on board, to indulge us like that. How must they feel, assigned to babysitting detail by their Warchief?_ Jaina was under no illusions. A champion, and a hero like Liadrin were overkill on a mission so academic that the holds reeked of parchment and wax.

“Not close at all I should think.” Jaina answered, pursing her lips and watching the sailors navigate the ice in the top yards, “ I'm sending the griffins and their riders ahead with our findings and instruments now. No use waiting, and no sense having them battered in their nest boxes.”  
  
“Very good, I'll see to it M'am.” The spellbreaker noded.

Liadrin's ears flicked back as the wind shifted violently and the ship lurched underfoot. “Quickly.”  
  
 _Brother Pike, be true, Tides bless you._  
  
“Thank you Brisyn-” then Jaina added, “ I'll have a missive for my wife to be included before the end of the watch.” Then to Liadrin, “ See too that the forecastle is in order? Those archainists tend to sulk when commanded to put their toys away.”  
Liadrin snorted, the most emotion Jaina had seen from her yet, “And your mages aren't reluctant to stow their scribblings?”  
Jaina sighed good-naturedly as Liadrin fell into step with her. They watched dark fingers of cloud begin to skulk across the sky, smudging away the dawn, “ They're not my mages.”  
“Are you not on the council of six now?”  
“That would make it the council of seven. Not as poetic.”

“They gave you forty apprentices.”

“What they gave me was an allied fleet and a captive audience.” Jaina caught the trim of a sail and was dissatisfied. “Excuse me, Lady Liadrin, Brisyn, I've got more 'lecturing' to do.”

  
~*~  
  
The storm was a bitch, and all the preparation in the world wouldn't have eased it.

A hurricane at sea, well Jaina had weathered those; a night, a day of back breaking work, then clear skies. She'd had the mana squalls too- short, violent, fickle things, but manageable with her skill as a master of the arcane.  
This?  
Four days.  
Four nights.  
  


The head sail whipped in ornamental shreds. It was only through the work of the mages below that the air on the deck wasn't pure sea foam. The wind roared and hissed, the rain and sleet were iron nails; piercing sheets that clung to the ship like a curse. There was nothing natural in the low hum that seemed to vibrate the deck, nor with the taint of magic in the waves that crashed over the side. In the distance, Jaina thought she could see morning, a tentative relief. A vague gloaming in the world of gray where the sky and the sea were broken mirrors.  
Jaina slid in half frozen brine as the ship rolled heel. A full 35 degrees- despite the care of her generous ballasts- then pitched back. She grit her teeth, keeping _Legacy_ on course to the waves, feeling the strain of the rudder shudder up through the wheel. She hoped the holds had been well attended recently. The last thing she needed was for her cannons to give her a hull breach because of a sailor's sloppy knots. But that wasn't fair- the sailors, any hands that could be assigned, had grueling shifts. It was a sprint, trying to keep the ship from shaking into kindling, trying to keep the pumps from being overworked. The scholars and arcanists did their best too; treating wounded, spelling the decks, keeping them all from freezing, warding the cranks and rudders, following Brother Pikes instructions...  
  


“Grand Admiral-” Liadrin fought to her side, lifeline taught as she shouted to be heard. Jaina turned, but lost her footing as Liadrin crashed into her. The wheel won free, spinning madly.  
A moment later the pair of them threw their weight against it, and Liadrin was at hand, rain water and hail sluicing down from her oilskins with her words.  
“- Brother Pike says 'it could not be soothed'.”

Jaina's skin prickled. _At last_. Heat flared in her chest even as the cold of the sea chewed into her bones. Whatever stalemate the sage had been waging was over. She knew she should feel fear. Brother Pike admitting a failure should have chilled her to her marrow. It didn't. She grinned. Maybe she was going mad. She hadn't slept enough that was for sure, and the storm rations of bland, though nutritionally sound potions probably had long term side effects. _If it cannot be soothed..._ Jaina shoved her hair from her eyes, a feral smile replacing the slash of her mouth.  
“-Did he say if 'it' could be killed?”  
Liadrin blinked, “He neglected to mention what 'it' was.”

  
They hauled together once more, and Jaina fixed the wheel tight, binding it with a length of dripping rope and magic to keep her true.  
  
“Very well-” Jaina barked, “ Victory is assured-”  
Lightning forked down, cutting the whorling seascape into scraps of white and black. Jaina laughed, a raucous sound, the after image still flashing behind her eyelids,“-See? the Tide Mother agrees!”

  
Liadrin's reply was lost to the wind.

  
Jaina felt hot.  
Cold.  
Electric.  
 _I'm going to kill this storm. I'm going to swallow it whole.  
_ Jaina knew the rage of the sea. Its' hungers and demands. She knew it the way she knew the blood staining her own teeth. She roared out commands to the skeleton of her duty crew- But then,

then the wreckage of her only sail was falling, lightning cracking again, and again and again into her mizzenmast. The tattered canvas sparked.

_She's waiting for me_

A fire on a ship was a deadly thing, tar and wood ready to burst. Jaina had no doubt that it would burn despite the rain, despite the ice and crippling wind.  
  


_I'm going to see my wife. I'm going home._

Fury and something like thirst weighted her steps, anchors in her boots. _No_. It wouldn't crush her crew, or drag _Legacy_ down to list. It would not start a fire and doom them all. _Not today_. _Tonight-_ Jaina didn't think- she blasted the remains free, clean and cold and away from her empire of timbers and pitch.  
 _Tonight, tonight I'm going to kill this storm. Tonight I'll swallow it whole-  
  
“-N'ALAH, _Admiral- _”  
_ Jaina frowned at the large splinter blossoming from her ribs. Blinked at it, affronted. How rude of her ship- _doesn't she know it was for the greater good? Lucky though, didn't sever my life line._

Her first officer was reaching for her, but Jaina shrugged Liadrin away. Jaina pulled, removing, and casting aside the offending lance. Pressing a fire spell to the damage, she trudged down the icy steps. Legacy looked like a glass work, liquid diamond under the ice and mana spinning in failing shields. It did not inspire comfort. Something was off about the way the wind changed pitch in the rigging, the way the grain of the wood whispered against the soles of Jaina's feet.... _Legacy_ seemed to quiver, to balk- and Jaina's ship was no coward. She squinted through the spray and dark and sleet... _Fuck_ , _What an ugly bastard._

So, it hadn't been dawn Jaina saw glowing on the horizon.  
 _This 'it' first then._

Ghastly, pale and bloated beyond measure the thing crowded the skyline. It might have been a dragon, some great sea drake. _Once. Leviathan now._ It's head broke the water. Sickly discolorations- frothy reds and frightful puss pinks, the way things from the deeps so often were. And blue eyes. _So many eyes. So many teeth_. Fissures of dark arcane pulsed and raced over its coiling ruddy body, arching up towards the sky and spearing back down into the waves... where ranks of elementals and mana worms pooled like maggots on a corpse.  
  
“-Grand Admiral?”  
Jaina could hear the crew screaming, feel _Legacy_ begging to retreat. Tidesage's blessings were not meant for this. Her lips pulled back from her teeth.

“We kill the beast!”

_My wife is waiting for me_.

Sylvanas had always been such a sensitive creature when it came to dates, to anniversaries an promises. Long resigned that she would not be punctual, Jaina hoped that her letter and the attached package would soften the blow. The ship's griffins had had enough of head start to out pace the wind. Surely they had made it in time, had not been hurled to the sea; data, reports and her own gifts lost. Jaina longed to see Sylvanas wear it, her gift, her token. She had made it herself at sea, perhaps out of less graceful means, but woodworking was part of being a sailor. She'd used bone, wood, blood and magic and she had a burning need to see Sylvanas accept it. She hoped Sylvanas would accept it. Jaina had wanted to present it not only as the customary courting favor, but as birthday gift. She hoped sending it along ahead as a placeholder against her arrival was acceptable.

_She'll be wearing it when I get home. That and nothing else._

  
A wave hit _Legacy_ broadside.  
Water, walls of it crashing down-up-in, - eels and writhing organic mess squirming hungrily across the deck. Churning, they tried to anchor themselves, trying to syphon away the magic from the wards to bloat themselves further. Her sailors tried to stop them, a desperate race in salt and ice chips across the wood. _Are those_ _Naga? No too many eyes- too dead -_ It was no matter. Jaina would deal with this.

She cleared her decks. She made safe her sailors. Fortified their life lines. Re-anchored herself to the main mast. She wiped the blood of something foul off of cheek, and gave orders, tracing a sigil over the deck to stabilize their hard fought protections.  
“Lady Liadrin! Get your Blood Knights up here. Bring my mages!”  
“For the love of Light, Admiral-”

_Love_. Sylvanas had said it- that once, in the garden. _Love_. She'd only said it then, but she had meant it- _hadn't she always?_ \- in all of her touches- _in the way she sets out my hair pins-_ in the way she'd signed her correspondence this voyage 'with fondness and longing, S'. The way she'd kissed Jaina goodbye, and watched her walk up the plank to her ship- her ship fouled now with limbs and blood and-

Something slick, strong and shapeless hauled at the starboard side. _Legacy_ began to list. Another wave, a dark bulk swelling in the distance.

Jaina spat,“- _Now_! I have a need for them!”

She drew her cutlass, sending magic sparking out along it, sharp, blue and blinding.“To me- for _Legacy_!”

  
She did not wait to be obeyed. Things were crawling up onto her ship- into her kingdom, and she would not abide it. Cutlass carving away in one hand, her other hand described spells. _..I'm going home._ She was dancing now, as sailors and knights with life lines and weapons wove up onto the boards. She did not dwell on the fact that they were likely to spear themselves as the flesh of whatever was ailing them. Jaina wasn't thinking of that at all. She thought instead about the press of Sylvanas's mouth, the coy tilt of her lips when she said something dry and clever, the way they parted around Jaina's name; the ways they would welcome her home. Water splashed down at Jaina from a strange angle, giving her pause. She looked up. A truly behemoth wave, and the ship was not in a position to meet it. Jaina froze it- she tired- slowing it down- nearly succeeded- but momentum was cruel thing. The ice broke under its own crushing weight.  
The wave hit.  
Up was below and the air wasn't.  
 _Over the rail._

Jaina jerked backwards, her rope snapping taught, cracking ribs. She gasped. Lungs full of water. Ribbons of fire spiked through her chest. Soundless, suspended and breathless, all Jaina could see was the black below. An oil slick of purple-green ocean, mana veining through it like silver ore. The flashes were chaotic, radiant- _alluring_. Hypnotizing. She rejected its call... but her magic did not. It would not respond to her will, snared and trickling away from her. Devastating and thirsty, siphoning her reserves away. A vacuum, a terrible emptiness drawing her in. Wringing her dry, a sensation like her spine attempting to force its way out through her navel. Jaina choked another breath; a refusal, not a submission. She would not drown. _No_. Something sweet spiraled in the tide, a distant melody. Something Jaina heard in her blood. The pull lessened, enough for Jaina to retaliate. _I'm going to destroy you._ She grappled at the last strings of her magic. She pulled back, and the connection went slack. A cut line. Then, the force reversed, a furious collapse of energy lancing lightening-like through her.

Hot water thrust her back, a blistering riptide of mana snaking through the water and forcing her down. _Not down -up-_  
Jaina's back connected with the deck. Solidly. Her skin was pink, her heavy clothes and furs clouding the air with steam. She rolled, melting the snow and briny slush, shock prompting her to wretch. Once, twice. She was laughing, and that made dry heaving difficult. _It's afraid of me._  
  
Someone was screaming.

_Good. It should be._  
Her ear was alight, scalding- Jaina lifted a hand to touch it, but frowned when her body didn't respond. Her sword arm hung limply, the hand a mottled purple. _How careless of me, I lost my cutlass._ She brought up her left hand, and found the earring hot to touch. A brand, pulsing faintly. She drew back and found blood too.

Someone was still screaming.

“-nd Admiral-!”  
  
Jaina focused. Blood elf- _Blood Knight- spellbreaker._ That would do nicely _. Perfect._ Jaina recognized Brisyn, her golden hair, storm dark, plastered to her face and neck as she released Jaina's life line. _Did she haul me? I'll have her commended._

Brisyn helped Jaina to her feet, dragging her away from the rail “By the Sunwell-”  
She tried to advise Jaina of the situation, attempted to check Jaina for fatal injuries, but Jaina kept moving, fidgeting. Jaina wanted to shout, to snarl. A manic hunger was chewing its way out of her. She could hear the fighting near the bow as the last bit water drained from her ears- _let me go- I must go._ Jaina wanted this finished.

 _I want my wife._  
She wanted Sylvanas's grim stoicism, her resolute determination, unflagging grit. She wanted the cool press of her fingers, and the weighted comfort of her arms.

“The sea is boiling- was that you?”  
 _I have no idea._

“Yes.”  
“- it's calmer now. Daughter of the Sea indeed!” Brisyn managed to hold Jaina still for a breath and forced something bitter between her lips, “Swallow- potion- now-”  
  
Jaina agreed out of expedience, and because the small bottle was already forced between her teeth.

“Lady Liadrin …. your mages... unit... knights...-” Brisyn gestured to the battle, the wind stealing her words as elementals and deep things fought on the planks,“The sailors-.... struggle...ship- Orders Grand Admiral?”

_Death._

“Guard me-” Jaina drew her pistol left handed, flexing her right experimentally. Whatever she'd drank was fast acting, “ Don't let anything touch me. Neither spell nor blade.”

Jaina was already moving, an illustration of single minded tenacity. _I'm going to blast that Tides cursed drake apart_. She was going to rip the sky open, banish the elementals, and sing the sea to her will. That frenetic, burning energy had a hold of her, a buzzing in Jaina's teeth that made her lips tingle. _I will slaughter that beast. I will swallow this storm._

“Admiral?”

“I'm going fishing.”

 _I'm going home._  
Brisyn stared, disbelieving.  
“Do your best -” Jaina chuckled to herself, using her belt knife to slash her line free “Let me not be interrupted.”  
“As you command.”

Jaina prowled forward, finding her vantage. A clear shot. She'd likely only get one. _I only need one._ She jumped up along the wreckage, half a mast, ignoring the clusters of mages and knights locked in combat. She did not engage, her eyes focused only on the beast. Dutifully, and with the grace of a dancer, Brisyn cleared their path. _This will do_. Jaina widened her stance, brought her right hand up, and aimed down sights.  
It would take all of her. Nothing less. Even as she began, she could feel the strain of it hissing along the arches of her feet, driving up through her heels and ripping hooks into her stomach. Jaina bit her lip against it. Continuing to pull magic into her spell, she reached out to the currents of the storm- they fell in with so little persuasion. It made her head spin, drunk on it. Hot and heady like a spiced wisky it burned all the way down. She wanted more. She opened her mouth, calling to sea- and the ocean rushed in. The cold alien certainty of its reply swam through her like nothing else she'd known . An ancient response, a fathomless well of mana with its own, old wants. It threatened to make a puppet of her, a candle burned at both ends. There would be a debt to be payed later, she was sure, but still Jaina let her casting grow, let it build like a harbor wave. The drake, mana sick and greedy would not be able to resist. _That's it._ Jaina watched its head whip around, its bulk gathering, monstrous coils flexing as it assessed her. Then, it thrust its head back, a roar- a howl, something with a thousand voices. _That's right, notice me you great dirty snake._  
From her position at guard, Brisyn shot a glance back at Jaina.  
“Grand A-”

“ _Hold!”_ It was Liadrin, spearing a naga, calling her forces to order.

That suited Jaina; she was busy.

The deck rolled, buckling and shuddering underfoot. Jaina held _Legacy_ together now almost as an afterthought, spinning it's protective wards in her hands, the ship like a trinket- and then their enemies fled. Soldiers and sailors cheered, before the sound changed in their throats. Still it wasn't enough. _Not ye_ t. Jaina felt her eyes sting, her skin like a worn seam, pressure like needles under her fingernails.Bees swarming in her veins. The drake's mouth gaped, furious- manifold like the dilated eyes that focused on _Legacy_. On Jaina. It charged, dragging the sky down with it.

_Wonderful._   
  


Liadrin's golden eyes flashed to Jaina too from across the mess of the deck. Her face was flush, spattered with gore. She stared at Jaina, at the leviathan rushing headlong towards them. Then her sword flared, a sun, a bright light in the dark. Her fist was raised, shouting something in Thalassian- a battle cry -“ _Victory for the highborn! Glory to the War Queen-_ ”

Brisyn sunk into her stance, her shield a bulwark braced for the waves as they were surrounded. The ocean and its' beasts seemed to fold in and swallow them all.

  
Jaina pulled the trigger.

It was quiet.

A thousand years of quiet.

Sound and colour had been stripped from the world, stolen with the blast. Each vibration. Gone. A thousand measureless breaths. Their return was slow. First white, a hmm- a whine, a subtle tremor.  
Then bass.  
She felt it in her chest, her ears stung with it. _Tinnitus? No, that's cheering_. Hands raised against the sky, robin's egg blue and somehow, as fragile. Clear. _How long have I stood here? ._

More colour returned now, muted and washed out in the jarring light of the morning. Jaina could not hear her own voice, but she could feel the abrasion as she ordered to no one in particular, “Sacrifices- Now! To the waves, all of you. Praise the Tides, its by mercy we survived.”  
  
 _I swallowed the storm. I slaughtered the beast_. She blinked a few times, struggled to focus. The hungry ache was gone now, but none of the yearning or necessity. Her head swam as urgency battled with a sudden queasy slosh in her guts. _I have to get home._ She made to take a step, and the world spun. She'd hardly lifted her foot. Something hot and salty trickled over her lips. She grit her teeth, centered herself, only to find her path blocked.  
  
Spellbreaker Brisyn held out her arm as if inviting her to dance. Her hair was dry, slightly fluffed with static, and she sounded just this edge of alarmed. It seemed as if she'd been speaking trying to get her attention for some time. “I'm.... I'm glad you're still with us. Please come with me.”  
  
Jaina pursed her lips, “I'm going to my cabin.”  
 _I'm going home_.  
  
“Grand Admiral!” Liadrin's voice was resonant, her features closed in concern.

 _When had she joined?_ Jaina didn't have room for Lady Liadrin's concern. She nodded curtly and hoped that would be enough. She flicked her wrist at Brisyn, who flinched, nearly jumping out of her way. Odd, but Jaina thought that it was good, _one less obstacle._ Her stomach was in knots and she was too cold beneath her furs. She took a step, or tried to. Her legs didn't obey. _No. No- I'm not going to-_ _I'm going home._ She wanted Sylvanas- her calloused palms, the taper of her ears. Wanted the smooth lilt of her voice, the sunlight in her hair-  
  


“War Queen?” Liadrin's voice was soft, so was the grip she had on Jaina, “ If you-”  
  
Jaina raised her casting hand, her patience dwindling. _I'm late._ She would just make a portal here _._ Sylvanas could be so delicate about canceled plans, she would be fretting about the storm-  
  
“ Lady Consort-” Liadrin, tones still placating, easily stopped the sluggish magic at Jaina's fingertips. “Your wounds-”

  
“That won't be necessary.”

  
Liadrin's grip hardened, her lips compressed, “I will see you to your stateroom now. You're-”  
Jaina tugged her hand free, but she'd pulled too hard, and struggled to correct her shift of weight. She swayed. Her voice strained and airy despite her best intentions. “If you must see me, you may see me to my wife.” Why didn't Liadrin understand? _I- let me go home. Please, I want to go home._

  
The blood elf's expression softened marginally, “If your gentle wife learns I let you leave my sight in this state, I'll lose my eyes.”  
“Damn your eyes,” Too late, Jaina realized she was causing a scene, people were beginning to stare. Jaina felt sick. The ship was rocking in away that she was sure wasn't natural. _Too hot_. But the sun on her face was cold. She could not stop though, she couldn't. If she stopped moving, if she stopped- she wouldn't-  
“Let me go.There are others more grievously wounded.”

  
Jaina made one more attempt to move, but with deft precision, Liadrin grazed the back of her hand against her ribs. Fire blazed up Jaina's spine, and despite herself, Jaina found that she'd accepted Brisyn's waiting arm, was leaning into her chest.

“ You, _Captain_ , are grievously wounded,” Liadrin was scolding, a steady stream of light providing an immediate, small relief. Then, clinically, “ Can you walk?”  
  
Jaina closed her eyes. Tried not to vomit on Liadrin's boots. “You wouldn't carry me off my own deck, would you?”

“Tell me I don't have to.”  
  


The indignity would be too much, carried off like a child, but... Jaina didn't know if she could, and the thought was unbearable. _I have to move. I can't stop._ She had to _._ Panic laced its way through her for the first time since the storm hit. Fear.

“ Liadrin, ” She caught her lip in her teeth, but couldn't stop the humiliating words- “Don't. Please.”  
“Here,” Brisyn held out her arm once more, giving Jaina space. She seemed so earnest, “ You can walk.”

Liadrin nodded, stepping in and slipping an arm around Jaina's lower back. It would look like Jaina was walking, and it was almost enough. There was no one ahead of them to see anyhow.

Liadrin's voice was gentle even as she gave orders, “We're going below. I will heal you, you will rest. We will report to the Warchief tomorrow. I will not return you in pieces.”  
  
Jaina tried to shuffle forward. _An inch_. She managed to slide her foot an inch. She hissed out through her teeth, “Y- Your bedside manner is first class.”

Liadrin coughed something that might have been a laugh, and warmth bled into Jaina. Jaina tried again to move. She took a step. The deck rushed up to meet her.  
  
  
  


Jaina woke sometime later, to mumbling.  
“ _...Just as stubborn too, little round ears be damned...._ ”  
  


She blinked. Tried to focus. _Evening light off the water through stern windows_. That was her desk- her map table. Her bookshelves, closed tight. Her marriage certificate proudly displayed behind her arm chair. _My cabin. Legacy._  
The storm.  
The drake.  
 _Sylvanas._

“Easy-, that's it.”

_Liadrin?_

Embarrassment first, and then pain like a sucker punch _._

Pain. Worlds of it. A latticework of it, a spider's casing over her whole body. _Tides._  
Jaina squeezed her eyes shut and let herself be pressed back into her pillow. She croaked, “Damage report?”  
“For _Legacy_ or her Captain?”

Jaina swallowed, her throat terribly dry, but she was already being offered water. She accepted, only to nearly spit it out when bitter potion washed over her tongue. Liadrin's hand on the back of her neck was firm, “Finish.”  
When she had, Jaina felt boneless, floating numbly. A marked improvement, but a strange one. She noticed a small tray to the side, bandages, bloody dressing. A pile of toothpicks?- _shrapnel._

In the numbness detached from motion, Jaina found herself squinting and asking in a small voice, “How... how bad?”  
A grunt then, “....Better now.” Liadrin leaned away, bracing an elbow on her knee. Chin in hand she asked, “Do you have a will?”

The question didn't make sense at first. At last it reached Jaina, floating as she was somewhere above her body. Of course she'd planned for succession rights and power vacuums. She licked her lips. “Yes. Most world leaders do.”  
Liadrin met her evenly, “That's not what I mean.”  
“Speak plainly?”  
“As you wish.” Liadrin toyed with a stained splinter the size of her fist, “ Do you want a sea burial, or should I bring Sylvanas your corpse?”  
  


Those words found her just fine. And Jaina wished they hadn't. She couldn't breath, she'd rather the seas had funneled down into her throat, salt and all. _Reckless, irresponsible of me not to consider this- willfully blind. Careless._

 _I want to die, don't I? Do I want that? To rest...?_  
 _What_ should _I want.  
Do I deserve it- dying. I've earned it, haven't I?_ It was a loaded gun, a terrible question.Would Sylvanas even want her, if she died? Would she raise her at all, regardless of Jaina's wishes.. _or does she only love me for my breath, a fetish for life and for our contrast. A way to play at house, a way to covet a heartbeat. Would it repulse her-_

  
Jaina hadn't thought she was crying or speaking out loud, but she must have been.

“Hush, I'm sorry Jaina,” Liadrin was putting something cold across her eyes, tucking blankets up around her, “ I was a brute. Shh, don't cry. You didn't cry when I pulled half the top yard out of your stomach, don't cry now.”

Jaina coughed, trying to summon scraps of ego, “Only half?”  
“Dont worry, the manna scars make a dashing accompaniment.”  
Jaina sighed. She could feel them, a lace work over her, “Hideous disfigurement?”

“More artful embellishment.”  
“Really? ”  
“By the Light.”  
Her words came slurred, “ Will Sylvanas have your eyes after all?”  
Liadrin laughed, this time a surprisingly musical sound. Jaina was going to say something, but in the cool dark beneath the cloth, she yawned instead.  
“Sleep. I've set some potions on the side board, take them in the morning.”

`~*~

_Bones and skin and water. The sea, singing. Strange- the voice was wrong. The tides didn't sing in that tongue, didn't sing with such sorrow and grief. The Drake was rising, red and swollen with a thousand eyes- jaws wide in a snarl- suddenly slack, as a pillar.-Not a pillar- a huge arrow sprouting from it, crowning through its forehead. It was bursting, and the song, the song-  
  
_ Jaina woke, heart pounding, already pushing back the bedding. It was dark, but she knew her cabin well. She breathed deeply, slowly, through ribs that protested. Then, she swung her legs stiffly over the side, taking a moment to test her limbs.  
 _Ah. So. Arm's fucked then_.  
It was in a sling, and she could move her fingers, but her wrist was stiff and above her elbow was numb. Her legs, surf be praised, were fine. _Wonderful._ She managed her boots, and was glad that Liadrin hadn't dressed her down below the waist. Her torso was decent, covered in bandages, but as that wasn't technically a shirt, she wrangled a blouse from her armoire. Jaina was relieved not to have lost her fine pistols- both had been cleaned and stowed in her gun belt. She managed that too, and then her great coat over it all. Last her gloves and gauntlet.

She squinted at the potions on the side board. Three unmarked, and a short note, 'drink.Sleep.-L.'  
“One on the left. Don't drink it.”  
Jaina tensed, and then sagged against the side table. Pike's unmistakable chuckle creaked out from her chair shadowed in the corner of the room. Jaina cursed softly, “Brother, scare m' soul t' the Mother.”  
“'m supposed to keep you to quarters, Daughter. CM's orders.”  
“Did she order cardiac arrest too?” Jaina tossed a skeptical look over her shoulder where the tidesage lounged.

“No..” He grinned, then added, slightly smug,“... however, she neglected to mention which quarters.”  
“Fair winds bless you.”  
“You've earned your shore leave Daughter,” Pike motioned to the bottles, “Two on the right, mana and vitals.”  
  
Jaina tossed them back in neat succession. “I'll take my leave, if it please you.”  
“As you will, Sea Caller.”  
  
Jaina was going to comment about this, but the thought was discarded as she tuned herself to her token. It _hurt_. It was much harder than it should have been, and required much more concentration than a portal should have. It flickered, wobbled, but at last solidified. With a final bow to the old man, she quit her cabins.

  
  
Jaina had never seen this room, but it was undoubtedly the spire. The ley line reached out to her like a vine, clinging, the embrace of family.

She stepped into the entrance of the narrow room, its walls fanning out with the curve of the building in a radial sweep. High molded arches, white stone, and lavishly lacquered wood. The full moon was large and glossy, a pinned flower in the wide windows, flooding the room with light. The surroundings were appealing, yes, aesthetic,yes, but it was the silhouette that made Jaina stop in her tracks. Half draped, glinting with oil. Jaina could not think of a more perfect form. A more exquisite turn of spine or play of shadow over ageless muscle. The fire cracked, hunkered low in the grate of the opposite wall. It sent tongues of red and gold licking up along her arms and back. Sylvanas glistened in the low light- a _moon goddess, Elune glittering and slick.  
My wife._

Sylvanas stilled, her ears snapping up, frozen in the act of washing her arms.

“Is that you, Consort?” Her voice sounded rough from disuse. Her ears shifted , coy, almost embarrassed. A goddess caught bathing.

  
Jaina swallowed thickly. She didn't bother to hide the burr of her accent, returned after months of commanding sailors at sea.

“Aye.”  
  
Sylvanas's shoulders relaxed, the relief a palpable thing. Feelings, _too many of them_ , rushed at Jaina. She hadn't thought further than this moment. She'd been so focused on getting home. On making sure she made it home- that she hadn't thought of what to say. Hadn't sorted her feelings from the battle. All of her plans, her verses, her clever words and phrases seemed trite. Her mouth was dry. _I might have never seen you again. I might have died._  
All Jaina could do was look.

And now that she had moved slightly beyond a dumbstruck disaster besotted with her wife, her heart was aching. _Are those braids in her hair?_ Intricate and deliberate; Jaina could not recall a time when Sylvanas had worn braids, not even as a ranger. And those were Kul Tiran braids, no mistaking them- ritual knots, bound with green and white ribbons. _My ribbons. She put my ribbons in her hair._

“... and that' you, First Lady of the Fleet?”

_I want to unwrap her._

Jaina could smell the oils, sandalwood, grapefruit and something that might have been Jaina's own perfume as she stepped forward. Her boots were heavy on the stone floor, the buckles and buttons of her uniform a metallic chorus. Jaina was overwhelmed by the poetry of Sylvanas's body. _How celestial_ , how unguarded and without artifice. Clean, spotless, braids and green ribbons and unconscious grace. Jaina couldn't count how many nights she'd waited in the past, watching for any sign of Sylvanas's safe return. To have their positions reversed... _Is this what coming home from war to your wife is supposed to be like? Gilt and pleasure so keen it could pass through the eye of a needle?_ The pain of belonging made Jaina want to flee. To never leave again. _A paradox_. She went to pick at her nails, a nervous outlet, and was stopped by her gloves. _Oh no_. _I should have cleaned up_. She should go. She absolutely could not leave. But suddenly, she couldn't stomach the idea of being seen. Of what she must look like. Of breaking the tableau of light and shadow and expectation with her own weakness. She wasn't sure she was ready to bear Sylvanas's worry and concern- or the possibility of their absence. Sylvanas started to turn at the sound of her approach.  
  
“No. Don' move. I wan' to look at ye.”  
  
Her shoulders shifted, the sheet falling away, a deliberate display. Jaina could see tension at the base of her spine and wanted to dig her fingers into it. Wanted to kiss it away.  
  
“You're late.” The pause. The tone of that voice, it cracked thorough Jaina.  
She swallowed once more. “I was delayed.”

  
Sylvanas whispered something Jaina couldn't hear as she set her vile of oil and her cloth on the stand to the left. She stretched, but she did not turn,“I did not expect you until the morrow.”

“First, I was late,” Jaina took another measured step. She could see the links of them now, two chains catching the moonlight against against Sylvanas's neck. Rivers of silver. Jaina felt pulled in, reeled, a fish on a line. She couldn't help it. This flawless version of her wife, keeping vigil against her return. _How could she be more perfect_? Jaina let her shadow spill over her, a long darkness stretched toward the fire, “And now I 'm early. However will I please you?”

Closer now, Jaina noticed something stranger than braids. _Clutter?_ In Jaina's experience, Clutter and Sylvanas didn't belong in the same sentence without the word 'despises'. But that's what it was. Books scattered on the stone before the fire place, open to various pages. A small wooden box, folded parchment leaking from it to form haphazard stacks leaning precariously like forgotten tombstones. A small collection of clothing strewn around the stones; Sylvanas's war regalia and... _Are- are those my clothes?_ They were. A pile of Jaina's shirts, blouses, a cloak, the Admiral's Great coat, even a blanket she favored, all heaped together in a pile on the hearth. _A nest_. It was heartrendingly endearing. _She wasn't preparing for me, not at all- this was for her._

 _When we missed out berth, she was already waiting for me. When the news of the storm reached her, she must have come here._ The anxiety it implied melted Jaina, demanded to be soothed... but catching Sylvanas like this, indulging in sentiment, missing her, was thrilling in a twisted way. The urge to act on it was near impossible to resist. Jaina wanted to tease her. _Praise her. Reward her_. _Make her whine. Make her moan.Make her obey._  
  


“You've my favours in your hair, wife.”  
Sylvanas didn't respond. Jaina watched the delicate vellus hairs on her nape rise slightly.  
“And my knots too.”  
 _Her shoulders are perfect. The plains of her back, the curve of her waist. Her hips. Perfect._

  
“Does it please you to imagine me pining?” Sylvanas sounded snide, but Jaina thought she knew how to read her now, knew what games she'd play to avoid saying the words she found so difficult to speak. The more difficult the words, the more Jaina craved them.  
  


“It pleases me to know my Lady wife braided offerings to the Tides into her hair.” Another jangling step, “ It pleases me to know my Queen was home waiting for me in our bed.”  
  
“It's a lounge.”  
  
“Details.” Jaina sighed.

Her coat was too heavy now, too tight across her back for the feelings she had in her chest. And it would certainly be a hindrance to what would happen next. She let the coat fall, thumbing the large buckle and shrugging out of it one handed. She reveled in the way Sylvanas's muscles twitched, stalled, fought not to turn at the sound of her coat hitting the floor. More more gingerly, Jaina shed the sling. Sylvanas's ears swiveled, an action broadcast by the faint rasp of ribbon on skin. Jaina tested her elbow before she extended her arm in the air, out past Sylvanas's shoulder. She stood close, intimate, but not touching. She held expectantly.

“Well? Remove my glove, sweet girl.”

  
 _Deep gods and little fishes_ , Sylvanas obeyed. Quick to take her, with light and trembling fingers. Then Sylvanas paused. She leaned against Jaina's palm, just barely. The whisper of her eyelashes against the leather was the most precious thing Jaina had ever heard. She wondered briefly what Sylvanas would think of her hands now. Faintly bruised, etched with fine, rippling scars from the mana.

Sylvanas said against Jaina's wrist “You smell like salt and blood.”  
As she peeled back the leather, Jaina had to blink. She had not anticipated enjoying the sight so much. Of being enthralled by the way Sylvanas worked the glove free, finger by finger. She managed to keep her voice smooth, somehow.

“... Did you miss me?”  
  
The fire snapped and popped in the grate. Sylvanas did not answer. The silence made Jaina hungrier for it. Instead, Sylvanas held the glove out for Jaina to retrieve as if she were an administrative aid. Jaina took it, and dropped it over her shoulder. She didn't care where it landed. She only cared now about getting what she wanted. An answer. As lightly as she could manage, Jaina trailed her fingernails up the side of Sylvanas's arm. Writing into her skin. _I love you, I'm here.  
_

The sharp intake of breath was well worth the effort. Jaina stopped at her shoulder, letting the weight of her palm rest there. Casual, languid. Heavy with silent command. She stretched out the other hand for the same treatment.

Seeing Sylvanas nearly worship her gauntlet was a sexual experience. Jaina had not been prepared for it. Watching Sylvanas's breath cloud the metal, purely for her own benefit, did things to Jaina that were embarrassingly carnal. The lust it planted in her was disproportionately sinful . She let her thumb slip higher up Sylvanas's shoulder, towards her neck, catching the twin chains. _She's wearing my marks, my anchor. My ring. She put it on a chain and she's wearing it._ The sense of belonging returned, mixed with her growing arousal, it made her eyes prick.

Jaina indulged herself and feathered another line of looping script down Sylvanas's skin; _I love you. I love you, and you are mine._  
When Sylvanas finished, and she heard the gauntlet clatter to the floor, Jaina finally let herself touch one of Sylvanas's braids. She could hear her own heartbeat, a volley of cannons, as she pinched a tail of ivory ribbon. She pulled.

“Your offerings...” Jaina continued to trace words of affection across Sylvanas's shoulders. A single finger, down the plains of her back, up the column of her spine. Wordlessly, Sylvanas pressed back ever so slightly. Jaina pulled another knot free from her hair. And another. She made a conscious effort to keep her breathing even. “ I accept them.”  
  


No answer came, but Jaina carried on anyway. “ They must have worked, you know. Placated the Tides.”  
  
Jaina leaned in, pressed a kiss to the artful arrangement that she was bent on ruining.“The sea was poisoned against us. Battle was pitched.” Another few knots, and Jaina had a pile of satiny loops at the base of Sylvanas's spine. “We were outnumbered against a monstrous foe... But I only thought about one thing.”  
  


Jaina finally placed both hands on her. She couldn't shake the idea that it was vaguely religious. A kind of sacrament that she'd rather be making on her knees. She spread both hands wide on her back, muscled like sleek stone- _an altar._ She moved down, over the sculpted deliberate lines of Sylvanas's body, slender and impossibly strong. Evidence of centuries of labor that would have bowed others. _So many_ _burdens born alone_. Jaina couldn't comprehend that she was permitted to touch, to savour. She would worship, soon. Answers first.

“Don't you want to know what I thought of?”

Silence. Moonlight on stone.  
Jaina pulled away slightly, skimming her knuckles up Sylvanas's spine. Then up, up her neck, before raking her fingers through through her mass of pale hair, letting her nails scratch at the scalp.

Finally half a groan broke Sylvanas's silence,“Of the headache your death would cause?”

  
Jaina exhaled, and instead of rising to the bait, she moved back down and pressed her thumbs into a knot between Sylvanas's scapula. A point of tension Jaina knew well, behind her drawing arm. “No. Guess again.”  
  
A breath through her bared teeth, her voice hardened, “If I would raise you?”

_Would you?_

“No.”  
And it wasn't even a lie, because that thought had come later. Sweeping the loose hair to the side, Jaina continued to work muscle beneath her thumbs. She waited.  
  
“Tell me.” Supercilious. A demand.

  
Jaina fanned her fingers, sliding in the oil, and rolled Sylvanas's shoulders back. Methodical in her pursuit. _No, no. You'll tell me._ She made her way down each defined ridge on either arm, moving on, tending to her biceps.  
“Tell me, mage.”

Jaina paused, cupping Sylvanas's elbows. A smile played at the corner of her mouth, irony, wicked and sharp. _Not much of a mage at the moment..._

  
“ 'm not your mage today.”

  
“What, a simple sailor then?”  
Jaina hummed, pulling back on those arms, watching her back- _gods, what a figure_. Jaina blinked hard. _Focus_. She held still once more.  
“Tell me, Captain...” Despite her stilted air of indifference, curiosity bled into her tone,“Admiral?”  
Jaina hummed again, sliding further down, working triceps and finally bracketing her wrists.  
With a sigh, Sylvanas assented, “ Tell me then, Grand Admiral.”  
  
Jaina returned that sigh, pulling Sylvanas's wrists together gently behind her back and pressing a kiss to the center of her spine, “I only had thoughts for you, my sweet girl.”

That shudder. That was what she'd come home for. The way her weight shifted slightly. Breaking that iron control, it made Jaina feel like a titan.

“I doubt it.”  
  
Jaina scraped her teeth slightly along her skin, pressed a kiss to the crook of her neck. What Jaina wanted to do now was hear, 'I missed you', torn from her breathlessly. Remove doubt from the equation in a fairly permanent way. Remind Sylvanas of who she'd married, and why. But her shoulder was starting to wake, warnings of pain in the future- a stitch in her side, a poor performance and a show of mortal frailty would do little for her own mental health. She settled on the ribbons, and a scheme formed. Improvisation was one of her specialties after all.  
  


“Let me cure you of doubt then,” Jaina released her wrists momentarily, before wrapping a few lengths of ribbon around them to secure them loosely. “Trust me.”  
  
For a moment, Jaina thought that Sylvanas might shred them, or phase out of them. Her shoulders flexed, tension made the ribbon sing. “For how long?”  
  
“As long as you wish.”  
  


As she relaxed and Jaina undid the laces of her loose shirt, already flushed. She tugged it over her head, and then considering, stepped forward. She let their arms brush, let the leather of her buckles just barely touch while she worked, slowly, to undo her belts.  
  


“What are you doing?”  
“Preparing your remedy, I thought I was being quite clear.”  
“Mouthy.”  
“But you so like my mouth.”  
“Will I have the pleasure of its company?”

  
Jaina tossed the belt away. _Gods where to start. How to break her?_ Because having her mouth on Sylvanas, and those thighs clenching shut over her ears would be a delight... But no. Jaina brought her knee to the edge of the lounge, grateful for the support. She gave in and finally, finally she draped herself over Sylvanas. She was so wonderfully soft, so wonderfully smooth, and terribly strong. Jaina hid her face against Sylvanas's jaw inhaling deeply, then kissed her way up the trembling length of her ear.

Jaina exhaled hotly, “ At some point, most assuredly you'll sample my mouth.”

  
Jaina brought her hands around, skimming up ribs and slabs of muscle. She kneaded and stroked and generally satisfied her staggering urge to touch. To know that she could, that she was wanted, even if Sylvanas didn't say it. It combined nicely it with her desire to drive Sylvanas to the edge of her patience, and she saw no reason to separate the two goals. She made circles and odd shapes across Sylvanas's abdomen, reproduced poetic edda's in script across her oiled breasts, carefully avoiding her nipples.  
She whispered sweetly, mouthing the cartilage of an ear, “So, do you feel cured?”  
Jaina felt Sylvanas's chest expand, the shift and play of skin and bone and sinew with the reflexive breath. “ _No_.”

  
Jaina let some of her weight rest along Sylvanas's shoulders, and finally began working one hand in an intentional line towards her hips. The other she sent skipping back up, to her throat.  
The sudden flex of stomach and the clench of Sylvanas's hands against her own hips nearly made Jaina purr. “Say it then.”

Jaina widened her stance, changing her angle to both allow Sylvanas to bear her entire weight, and wrapped herself around her. This way she could rest her check against Sylvanas's back, could hear each moan and useless breath rattle and resonate. Jaina brought her hand lower, venturing over her hips, flirting with the corded muscles of her quads, tight under tension. Then back along her inner thigh, up closer, _closer_ , only to stop. Sylvanas's hands twisted against the ribbon, rubbing slightly at the seam of Jaina's pants. Jaina didn't stop the groan that poured out of her. She made a show of appreciation, bit at the back Sylvanas's neck and rocked up against her.  
  
“-Jaina.” Hot, hungry, “- _You're_ wet aren't you _._ ”  
“And yet you doubted me.” She murmured.  
Jaina dipped a hand back over Sylvanas's chest, grazing her breasts before gathering the anchor pendant and her own ring. She pulled them up, a loop of them fisted, followed by the faint, baseless threat of pressure. Sylvanas arched slightly, and Jaina whispered, “ I thought only of you. How much I wanted you.”  
“Have me then.”  
“I intend to.”  
“Now?”  
Those hands worked again, a heady, formidable distraction, and Jaina didn't stop her. She let her low gasps drip right into Sylvanas's twitching ears. Even as she rolled her hips into Sylvanas's bound hands, she endeavored to sound as commanding as possible, “Say you missed me, Sylvie.”  
  


“I believe you. No doubt.”  
It was a full bodied exhalation, and Jaina appreciated the amount of strength it took for Sylvanas to say something like that. It should have been enough... But it wasn't what she'd asked for. Still cupping her throat with the gathered chains, Jaina used her thumb to skate down a pattern of scars before reaching the cradle of her hips. She stalled, using a fingernail to tease against the short hair there before Sylvanas fairly growled . A growl that broke in a high, reedy whine. Jaina wanted that sound bottled. Wanted a cask of its vintage. Wanted to drown in it. Jaina ran her fingers along the cleft of Sylvanas's sex- and moaned her appreciation hot and opened mouthed against her shoulder blade. _So receptive, swollen and wet and slick_. Jaina peeked down, watched the way her fingers spread her open in the fire light.

“ Gods above and below, what a _pretty_ girl you are.”

Sylvanas's sharp gasp and the shift of her hands against Jaina might have been retaliation, or reflex. Jaina didn't care which. She finally had Sylvanas in her arms, she would hear those hard won words soon. She cupped Sylvanas's mound, letting the heel of her hand press firmly against her clit.

“If you're finished extolling my praises,” Sylvanas sounded both yearning and condescending all at once, “ Fuck me.”  
Jaina nuzzled into the side of her neck. She was captivated, watching her fingers cup and caress and smear the satiny wetness between Sylvanas's thighs. It shone bright in the moonlight on her fingers.

“But that's just it,” Jaina said with a suggestive rocking “I'm not finished.”

“I could help you with that.”  
“Ah,what a splendid idea.” It probably hadn't been what she meant by it... _but,_ _that would solve mobility problems...._ Jaina nipped at the corner of Sylvanas's jaw, a trail of bites back to the base of her ear, where she lavished attention, “ Here.”  
Jaina sheathed two fingers inside of her, curled them gently on a delicious thrust. Then stopped. She felt Sylvanas's moan, the sound of it filled her ears. _A choir. A siren. Home. My wife_.

Sylvanas snapped her teeth together, a protest. “No. Dont st-”  
“You wanted to help didn't you?” Jaina flexed her hips, biting her lip against the sudden sting in her ribs, against the potions affects leaving her system, “ Help me. Fuck yourself.”  
  
Sylvanas made a sound, a laugh or moan as her head dropped. Her body rose. And came down on Jaina's fingers. Somehow, it was Jaina that felt full, her heart in her throat, a storm in her chest. She held on to Sylvanas, felt the rough flex of her fingers against the crotch of her pants. She used her weight as fulcrum, straightening so that her body added momentum, added depth to her wife's pursuit of pleasure at her hands. When Sylvanas's fingers tangled with the laces of her breaches and pulled, Jaina swallowed a whine of her own.

  
Her back , her arms and chest felt like a failing circuit, complaints that criss crossed her senses. A dull ache that spread across her collar bones, cutting into the pleasure Sylvanas's hands were painting into her clit. And then Sylvanas's arousal was dripping down her wrist, bleeding into the sheets and the lounge, and her own complaints disappeared. Jaina couldn't recall feeling something, hearing something so blissfully obscene before.

“Fuck, Sylvie- can you hear how wet you are for me?”

The coil and spooling of muscles beneath her, the sounds, all of it- _poetry_. Jaina added a third finger, the stinging stretch she knew that Sylvanas craved. More wetness trickled down into her palm, along her wrist and Jaina gasped. Sylvanas's hands balled into fists, jerking Jaina's hips hard against her back.  
  
“Your pants. Take them off Jaina-”  
“Admiral-”  
“ _Admiral_ then.” Sylvanas said the word like it was a sin, “Take off your pants.”

  
Jaina felt herself slipping, her knee sliding on the discarded sheet. She planted her other foot more firmly on the floor to compensate, regaining a bit of leverage.

“No. I'm not finished fucking you.”  
“ _I'm_ fucking me.”

Jaina fought for balance, putting more pressure against Sylvanas's throat, more force behind her grip even though it made her vision spark with pain.  
“Sorry, I'd forgotten,” Jaina husked, “ Go on then baby, fuck yourself. I'll wait.”  
“ _B'lore_ , Jai- Admiral. Admiral Proudmoore, I-,” Sylvanas craned to see Jaina, but could not twist far enough, “- I, I wanted you. There. Do something now- move damn you. I want to touch you.”  
  
The oil had seeped into her bandages and the delicious serpentine roll of Sylvanas's body made them slip and chafe. Jaina reached for magic thoughtlessly, but reeled back from the jarring sensation, a pang like a broken bone. She bit her lip and ground down on Sylvanas instead, matching her building pace. She used the pain as a focus, a blade. She just wanted to hear her say it, earn it some how. _Just once_.

“No.”

“No? I said it, now-  
“Sweet girl,” Jaina cut her off harshly, - “ I _know_ you _want_ me. I can hear the ocean between your legs calling for me.” She fought to keep her voice from cracking. She could practically feel the thrum of Sylvanas's frustration rising with her orgasm, twined together and close to boiling.

“What filth do I have to say to make you-”  
“-Did you _miss_ me?”

Despite herself, Jaina could hear her own strained need. Desire and pain tangled tightly and suffocating. Jaina washed her hand over chest and breast and stomach to meet Sylvanas's clit. She pulled back at the hood, but did not stroke it. Left it exposed. Sylvanas froze, dynamic, ridged and bristling.

“What-Would you have me beg?”

Jaina flinched.  
 _What am I doing?_  
It felt too harsh, too real, too raw suddenly. Like the scabs peeling apart with her unraveling dressings. She was close to crossing some line, something she might have realized if she hadn't barged in like a drunk tauren in an earthworks shop. She had angled for conquest- _selfish_. That had never been her intention, would never appeal to Sylvanas. A foolish thing to break the trust of her wife over. Jaina pressed a chaste kiss into Sylvanas's shoulder.  
“No, never.” Contrition, “ Why would you beg for what you already own?”

Jaina started a slow shallow rhythm, a penance. It was the most she could do- and she didn't know for how long.

The sudden change, the shift in pace, in tone and address- Sylvanas's legs quivered. Her iron resistance falling away in the the wake of sweeter words “I-”  
“Sylvanas, only ask me.” _More kisses_. Jaina placed them, summer soft against Sylvanas's trapezius muscles. Along the column of her throat, “ If it's in my power- I'll give it to you.”  
The rush of breath, the way she rocked back against her, Jaina wanted to cry. _This_ was better. _This_ was good. _What was I thinking? Always softer._ Affirmations _. Calm waters. Home._  
“Let me-” Sylvanas started, but stopped, groaning as Jaina slowly, lightly, played her clit, “May I. May I touch you?”  
Jaina arched her back, giving Sylvanas's hands room, and they slid past the gaped lacing.  
“ Spirits. _Jaina_. Jaina, you're soaked. _Gods_.”  
“Not for the Gods Sylvie,” Jaina kissed her check, trying to curl her fingers deeper without feeling like they would break, “for you.”  
Sylvanas snorted, but it was too elegant a sound, her profile too soft for it to be derisive. She was close. _Almost_.

“Jaina- I...” Sylvanas's fingers reached, stroked her, and Jaina bore down. Sinking down on to them briefly, just barely.  
“What?” The exertion from keeping her hands steady, from her own arousal had sweat beading on Jaina's forehead, trickling down her spine. “Ask me, I'm begging you to. I'll do it. Ask me nicely, and I'll do anything you want. Give you anything you want.”

“Give me-” a shudder, and a deliberation between pride and desire, “I want your cock. Give it to me, _please._ ”

  
Jaina thought she'd died. She'd drowned in that storm washed up on the shores beyond the world. She moaned, a half sob and fought through the burn of manna as she roped the ley line to her will. But, _salt and sea_ , it did feel _good_ though. The combination of Sylvanas's words, and the soothing rush of old magic seemed to fill in the cracks of her body. A ripple of pleasure against the pain. Jaina was dizzy, drenched in fire and sex. She slid her fingers free of Sylvanas, and pressed down on her lower back.

“You shall have it.”  
As she positioned herself Jaina heard the ribbons snap, felt the broken length slither down against the tops of her thighs.  
“Slow?”  
“Yes.”  
 _Praises be_. Slow was all she could force herself to do. Hardly could. _Had to._ Had to remind herself of her own breath, her own heart, of being alive. Of touch. _Communion, not power_.

“Rock back on me pretty girl,” Jaina choked out. Instead of taking hold of her by the hips, Jaina took her hands. Sylvanas's body bent, as powerful, as deadly a bow as Deathwhisper, “ How do you want me?”

  
“ Jaina, closer, Just-” Her fingers flexed, posture shifting and Jaina let herself be urged forward flush against Sylvanas's back.

She rocked their hips together.“Like this?”  
“Yes.” A satisfied rich sound that intensified as Jaina did her best to keep a consistent stroke, “Like this. Like this. Yes.”

When Sylvanas shifted and pulled, Jaina followed her down. She tucked her arms behind Sylvanas's, tangling their legs on the lounge as she repeated the glide of her hips. It was doable, only just. But then Sylvanas was groaning, widening her legs to pull a knee up along side herself, giving Jaina more space. It was more than doable then. Jaina thought she really would do anything, if Sylvanas only asked her to. Magic, desire, adrenaline. If Sylvanas moaned and said her name in that voice, Jaina would raze cities, move continents. Die trying. Sylvanas's fingers clenched around hers accompanied by a particularly sensual moan.

Jaina couldn't help herself. Her words escaped her judgment in a laboured whisper, “Does it feel good, baby girl?”

Sylvanas gasped in response, her hips stuttering against their easy pace, “Again.”  
Jaina tried to recreate the action. The long line of motion ending with a snap of her hips that brought her a measure of pain and a step closer to release. “Again what, baby?”  
“ _That_ \- fuck, Admiral-”  
“-Jaina.” She was trembling, her arms shaking. She could not do it again. She did.  
“I'll call you what I like-” Sylvanas thrust back against her, sinuous grace and need, “Again, please.”

“Anything.”

She did.  
“ _Ann'da_ , yes, yes Jaina. You feel good.Again.”  
She did.

Jaina was sure she was crying. She made her hand move, made it fly over Sylvanas's clit and then Sylvanas was bucking beneath her and Jaina could hardly hold on. She felt feverish and desperate. Jaina wanted nothing more than to kiss her. To kiss her and see her face, and tell her she was the prettiest thing under the sun.  
So she did.  
Sylvanas twisted onto her back, opening her arms. Jaina sunk in.

  
Foreheads pressed together, Sylvanas pulled back only to allow Jaina a breath. Their lips brushed as she spoke,“ Jaina, you must be so ready for me.”  
Jaina kissed her again, murmuring her agreement as she burrowed her fingers into her hair. Hungry for her touch. Sylvanas recovered, crooning darkly into Jaina's ear,

“In just a moment, I'm going to take you on the flagstones before the fire over there. I'm going to reacquaint you of the charms of land and-”  
Sylvanas's rocked her hips up, her hands raked down Jaina's sides- but jerked away as Jaina cried out.  
“- What?” The atmosphere shattered. Sylvanas's eyes opened, focused, no longer dreamy or sated,“Jaina?”

She sounded small, panicked. She touched the bandages gingerly, “What is...”  
  
“Its nothing.” Jaina attempted to placate her, “ An inconvenience.”  
Sylvanas evidently didn't believe her. They were righted, sitting up straight with a speed that made Jaina's head spin.

Sylvanas was cursing, sharp and fast in her native language. She held Jaina at arms length in her lap, taking an inventory that obviously didn't please her. Jaina didn't want that. Not at all. She wanted to be held close. Closer. Sylvanas seemed to come to the conclusion of her rant, and abruptly snapped her jaw closed. She started to stand.  
“I'm getting you a healer.” Carefully composed. Distanced.  
“No,” Jaina's hands slid down her forearms as she tried to set her aside, prying them apart, “Don't go.”

Sylvanas's frown was truly impressive as she cycled through a range of emotions. She broke eye contact, and Jaina knew she was following the lines of new scars. _So many_.

“I should send you back to _Legacy_.”  
“Don't.” Jaina threaded their fingers together.  
Sylvanas swallowed, the smallest tell.

“Hold me?”  
Sylvanas closed her eyes. Back stiff. “You came here like this.”  
 _You came here like this and I didn't notice. That's what she means._ This was not a good line of thought. Would not get Sylvanas's arms around her again. _Pivot_.

“Like this?Oh, no. I came here fully dressed.”  
Sylvanas barked a sour laugh that ended in more Thalassian cursing. “Do not toy with me, _Dalah'surfal_ , I am not in the mood.”

“I can fix that.”  
“You can't even stand.”  
Jaina squeezed her fingers, “I don't have to stand if you'll carry me to bed.”

Jaina tried not to look too abject, too pleading as she stared up at Sylvanas. Oh, she was still breathtaking, but Jaina noticed now where she'd smudged dirt on her clean skin, where grit and mess from her wrappings and uniform had clung. _I've made a mess of her_. But Sylvanas hadn't stood up entirely yet, hadn't made up her mind. Jaina leaned in, kissed the place between Sylvanas's breasts. A light soothing gesture. It was then that Sylvanas's choice of words finally settled over her. _Oh_. She remembered then, the state of the room when she'd arrived. The anxiety. The vulnerability. How her injuries must be perceived in that state of mind. _Oh_. Jaina would go. She could go, if Sylvanas needed her to. She would go if Sylvanas asked. Would do anything. She let go.

Jaina sighed, “Alright... I'll go. I didn't mean to worry you. I'm sorry, I'll go.”

Sylvanas's arms moved down around her more smoothly than Jaina would have thought possible. Her ears hung low, practically wilted as she gathered her close again. “I- I have suddenly changed my mind.”

“Oh?”  
“Yes.”  
Jaina nuzzled into Sylvanas's chest as she was folded close, finally. Sylvanas stroked her hair, and despite her fatigue, Jaina still found an ounce of snark, “Shame, I looked forward to you blowing out my back by the fire.”  
“I'll have to ensure sure you live through the night first.”  
“Sylvanas.”  
“Humor me.”  
“Don't I always?” Jaina traced over Sylvanas's face, her cheekbones, her lips, her chin. Sylvanas kissed one of her fingertips.  
“I'm going to have Liadrin's eyeteeth for cuff-links.”  
“Don't be too hard on her,” Jaina admonished, “ She took half the ship out of me by hand.”  
Too late Jaina realized her mistake, and winced at Sylvanas's hissed question,“Why?”  
“Because I had to be a hero?”  
“Jaina.” Sylvanas sounded so tired. So resigned, as her eyebrows knit together,“You cant-”  
“I'm here Sylvanas,” Jaina shrugged free of her embrace to meet her gaze more levelly, “I'm here now. I came home to you, I'm safe in your arms. I'm home and I love you and-”  
  
Sylvanas kissed her. _Soft_. Even, firm pressure that robbed her words, the barest sweep of tongue sent them scattering. Jaina melted, she wanted to say more, say she was sorry. Say that this wasn't the birthday celebration that she'd planned, not by a long shot. Instead Jaina moaned as Sylvanas cradled her face in her hands.  
“You will drink the potions I give you.” A concise order.  
“Yes.”  
“And you'll see every healer I ask you to.”  
“To the hundredth priest.”  
Sylvanas made a show of being stern. Jaina watched her smile sneak in, the lift of her lip, the way the corners of her eyes came up before she kissed her again. The tenderness was astonishing. Fiercely delicate. Sylvanas tentatively brushed her hands over her legs, stroking her lower back.

“Does this hurt?”  
Jaina shuddered, stealing air, before coming back for more of those kisses, more affection, more anything, “No.”  
“In that case...” Sylvanas cupped her ass, her fingers kneading gently and Jaina gasped into her open mouth.  
Sylvanas helped Jaina's arms up around her neck, arranging her as she liked, whispering against her cheek all the while, “ You know, it's annoying how beautiful you are. Even half drowned. Wild and blood stained- managing to seduce me. It's vexing.”

  
Jaina chuckled, the sound colored with arousal as she rubbed the bridge of her nose along Sylvanas's jaw. Sylvanas licked the sweat from her neck, and trailed the barest of kisses to her ear.  
“ And how can I be a responsible wife, if my bride wont let me tend her most basic needs?”  
“like Sex and cuddles?”  
“Like _Health_.” Sylvanas corrected, “People will say I don't know how to keep my woman. That will not do.” Her intonation was crisp, her voice a roll of authoritative velvet against Jaina's ear,“After you fall apart for me, which I imagine will be momentarily, I'm going to tend to you.” Sylvanas worked her hand around the worn waist of Jaina's pants, before reaching down the front, “And you will not refuse me.”  
  


“Sylvanas,” There were many things Jaina wanted to say, a hundred likely things she should say. She couldn't think of them. Could only say her name. Over, and over again. Some litany, a chant, like waves on the sand.  
“Sylvanas.”  
“Yes, it's me,” Her touch was quick and impossibly light, “ I'm here. Say my name.”

“Sylvans.”  
 _Sylvanas. Sylvanas. Sylvanas._

“ Yes. _”_  
“Sylvie I....”  
“ I know, hush- I'll do it for you, don't fight. Don't force it. I have you.”  
“Sylvanas, inside, please-”  
“Shh shh, here,” Sylvanas's voice was dense with desire, even as her body was a masterwork of restraint, “Can you take me?-”  
“Yes” Jaina shuddered, biting Sylvanas's lip, catching it between her teeth, “Sylvanas. Love, make me come, please.”

Jaina tried to raise her hips, but Sylvanas stilled her. Swallowed her whine, only to groan loudly as she met no resistance, only welcoming heat, “ _Anara'alah_ ,” Her precise, graceful motions contrasted with how ruined she sounded, “all this for me?”

“I missed you.”

Sylvanas stifled a sound against Jaina's neck and a bite that was a product of instinct and affection. Jaina tugged weakly at her hair, tried to move against her, to encourage her, but she was held too completely.  
“Oh, _Dalah'surfal_ , ” Sylvanas's whispered breath seemed to burn Jaina in the best possible way, “I missed you too.”  
Jaina dug her fingers sharply into Sylvanas's back trying to spur her on, but she didn't err, her motions languid and unhurried.

“ _Sylvanas,_ ”  
“I'm here.”  
“Sylvanas-”  
“Yes, I'm here, I'm here. Now, dear heart, you can do it.”  
  
She did.

Sylvanas was humming something, something Jaina thought was vaguely familiar. Then again her whole body was only a vaguely familiar thing now, rocking slightly as Sylvanas rubbed circles against the base of her spine. Jaina played absently with the chains, the pendants Sylvanas wore.

“I want to berate you.” Sylvanas admitted, running a hand through Jaina's woefully tangled hair.

“I deserve it.”

Jaina smiled, exhausted and sated. All purpose and urgency seemed to have abandoned her. Aimlessly content for the moment. Being held seemed to be a good enough vocation as any. Jaina kissed faint scars on Sylvanas's chest, admired the jewelry in the fading moonlight. The ring hung nicely against the anchor, dark wood and gleaming bone, traces of pulsing blue. _She must like it_. With some relief Jaina expressed the feeling, nudging it to draw attention, “I'm glad you're wearing this.”  
Sylvanas stopped combing her hair. “You thought I wouldn't?”  
“I thought it was a possibility.”  
Sylvanas sucked air through her teeth, a pained sound. “Why?”  
“You like such fine things.”  
Sylvanas made another sound, one Jaina couldn't quite name. _Annoyance? Sadness?_ She kissed Jaina's forehead. “Is that what this was about?”

“What?”  
“After all this, you thought _I_ wouldn't want _you_?” _Bitterness, that's what it was_. Incredulous but still sweet, “ I'm bathing you. Now.” And they were standing, Sylvanas leading them somewhere. “You'll be quiet. I'll change your dressings. You'll take a dreamless sleep drought no- don't argue, you already promised. You will rest. I will remind you again in the morning of how stupid you are.” Another kiss, behind her ear as they moved through the hall, into the bathroom “ You don't have the stamina for it now.”  
  
“Is this an overture?”

“No, a statement of fact.”

Jaina relented, “You're probably right.”

“When did you last eat?”  
When Jaina could not give a clear answer, this produced a whole new round of cursing.  
“Never, you're never allowed on a boat agai-  
“-Ship-”  
“Belore burn them all, 'Ships', never allowed on a _ship_ again.”  
“As Grand Admiral I -”  
“You're my wife,” The intensity startled Jaina, the edges of the anchor and the ring biting into her breast where she was held tightly, “ Before that, you are my wife. No ships until you've recovered.”

  
Jaina thought it was best not to mention anything about her potential magical injuries and the price of over using arcane power. Not right now at least. It just didn't seem to be the best plan. Not when Sylvanas was being so protective, so doting and adorable. Making her feel so wanted.

“Whatever you say.”

“Your compliance won't save you. You're going to be well taken care of.”  
“Strange threat, Sylvie.”  
“You're a strange woman,” She countered, exasperation clear on her face, “ A strange, terrible enchantress.”  
“More of a magus really. Arch Mage technically.”  
Sylvanas closed her eyes. “For just a moment.... Could you shut up?” She sighed heavily, kissed Jaina again, setting her down. A painfully tender kiss. “Shut up, and let me love you. Can you do that?”

“I can do that.”

  
She did.

And when Sylvanas was done, the sun was rising in the window as she lay down beside her with deliberate caution. “Better?”  
Jaina nodded, trying to scoot towards her, but the weight of the blankets made it impossible. Sylvanas obliged her, curled around her. A matched set.

“Rest. I'm not leaving you.”

“Thank you.” A pause, “Sorry about your birthday.”  
Sylvanas tisked, half a chuckle. Then more insistently, she huffed “Rest now.”

“But it's morning,” Jaina whispered, letting her eyes flutter closed as she hid her face in Sylvanas's hair. She still smelled of sandalwood, and grapefruit, “Aren't you supposed to tell me my sins now?”  
“Stupidity isn't a sin, it's just a character flaw.”  
“Same thing.” Jaina breathed, sleep a creeping event on the horizon.  
“Fine,” Sylvanas intoned, “Your sin is being stupid enough to love me.”  
“Same.” Jaina laughed, even as the sound turned in to a prolific yawn. “Same, same, same.”  
“Congratulations wife. We're equally wretched.”  
“What a triumph.” Jaina mumbled, pressing sleepy grateful kisses into the arm wrapped around her shoulders.  
“Yes, and the prize is endless banter. Sleep.”

She did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading. Its super gratifying and encouraging to see that people take the time to read my filth, and seem to get enjoyment from it.  
> ~Q <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communication is hard. Love languages are difficult. Conversation is important.

His laughter was sharp, broken- _wonderful_.

She could not remember- _not clearly_ \- a time when it had sounded so genuine.

“He really is happy, you know.”Anya gestured with the tip of her boot from where she crouched, half off the crumbling tower balustrade, “Though, he won't ever say it.”

Sylvanas flicked her ears against the cold, and tried to ignore the blossom of sensation. It hurt so sweetly, it could only be affection. _Insipid and tenacious_. She'd been having a lot more of those, of feelings, lately. Enough of them to be distracted; She hadn't heard Anya scaling the ruin until just before she'd swung into view.

Sylvanas made a noncommittal grunt, narrowing her eyes in the shade of her cowl. Even with the hard glare of the sun off of snow and ice, Nathanos _did_ look happy. Down, away in the training yard with the greenlings recruits he was laughing. Smiling, shaking out his wrist after taking them on thirty to one, smiling with his grin that wasn't quite his anymore. He'd resented being assigned to the youngest core of Ranger hopefuls. Resented the feeling of being replaced, losing status without an active war, resentful of the drudgery, considered it an insult to be with the young and castoff; a slight because he was male and human... but now....

Now he looked like young Marris; dashing and bold, and confidant enough to swallow the sun. _Better_ \- Alive, Ranger Lord Nathanos hadn't had the luxury of compassion, of kindness, of being nurturing. _My people crushed that out of him. Even as we demanded allegiance and the best of him- we belittled him for his service_. Surrounded now by a crowd of mixed-raced youths, advising and supervising their training, he looked at home. Looked like the father he'd once confided in Sylvanas he wanted to be. In his green and brown practice leathers instead of forsworn battle regalia, he looked like her student, like the brilliant tactician and friend he'd been...

She had to look away.

More laughter. The crunch of many boots on snow. Training resumed. Captain Areiel's brusque voice barked out over the quad, heard even from Sylvanas's perch so high, on so distant a tower. Areiel had insisted, once again on commands in Thalassian. Immersion would be vital, she'd said, if they wanted to truly belong, if those misfits ever wanted to be something close to Farstriders . _As if there were still Farstriders- as if people wanted to belong among the forsaken_. That was part of a problem, a growing gnawing paradox. They did. Sylvanas didn't know how to categorize, how to dismantle and tease apart that brier of feeling. So she avoided it, and instead focused daily on the paperwork and logistics of expanding, and rebuilding her forces... building something that did , if you squinted, look suspiciously like the Ranger core of a fallen nation. Sylvanas swallowed and avoided the urge to scuff at icicles with her heels. _Juvenile._

“Report, Anya. Or did you come only to chirp.”

“To chirp, most assuredly.”

“Then sing for me.”

Anya settled more securely in her seat, “As you will, Dark Lady.”

She said, it but they sat quietly in the crisp afternoon, watching the shadows creep into Orgrimmar in strange twisting nets against the snow.

Anya cleared her throat after a time, “ Word arrived. Confirmation.”

Sylvanas nodded. Masses of mana-logged beasts and scourge followed the storms. She hadn't needed the trifling approval of The Unified Council to confirm what she'd seen first hand. Those first attacks had been terrifying- scourge and addicts and broken beasts throwing themselves at settlements, at homes, against her city walls. It had been hellish. The dead in the cold, the lashing sleet and lightning, and the screaming. _Hellish and familiar._ Familiar enough that Sylvanas had forgotten, for a few moments, that she wasn't dead- that this wasn't Silvermoon. She'd called her rangers. Acted. Did what she'd done for decades, for centuries. She'd been a general- The Ranger-General, and defended her home.

_Home._

It was still a strange concept to apply, 'home', but it hadn't mattered when her gates were besieged. Her people were here, her soldiers- her wife. The only blessing had been that Jaina had been safe aboard Legacy at the time, _on that damned scouting mission. Some safety that turned out to be_.

It had been strange too, after that first battle at the gates, to be so highly regarded. She'd nearly paused when she first heard it, while piling bodies of dead beasts high for burning. Sylvanas had done only what an animal would have done, a lion in defense of its den. _Selfish, territorial, reflexive_. But the word had traveled round the city, through the slums springing up, and through new districts formed as people slunk in from the snowy wastes. They'd watched as her forces cleared the fields. Watched and whispered. Word was that Sylvanas Windrunner _cared_ \- had some change of heart...That she was _noble. A protector_. She chose not to engage with that. At all.

In the days after the first attacks, Sylvanas hadn't sat idly. She couldn't - not when her cities and the rest of the cursed Coalition she'd sworn her life to, sworn Jaina's life to, could be toppled by this new development. She'd sent news ranging wide, warnings about what would come, instructions that the movements weren't random. The masses could be prepared for, diverted with earthworks, scouting and proper provisioning. Sylvanas had promptly presented the facts, and petitioned to the Unified Council for reinforcements and aid. However she was, even now, less than readily received. _Rebuffed._ When they'd expressed doubt, she hadn't fought it. She'd filed the report, the requests, and withdrawn. She had simply gone home and made sure that when _Legacy_ made port, that there would be an Orgrimmar to return to. It wasn't until the storms blew out across other cities, alliance cities, that she was believed. Acknowledged. _Consulted._ Hollow victories all, when history played itself again like a waltz over broken glass.

However, Anya's confirmation now, that the masses were mindless was welcome news. Beyond welcome. Seeking only the storm's power, and not driven by anything more- it quenched a fire of fear that had been burning low in Sylvanas for weeks. _No greater motive, no first mover_. She let loose a breath that she hadn't known she'd held. The mindlessness wouldn't stop the hordes from charging after the squalls, destroying anything in their way in their thirst for magic- But it provided relief nonetheless.

“Anything else?”

“Enlistment continues at an all time high.”

Sylvanas raised an eyebrow, “ Proportionally?”

Anya nodded. Odd. She must have let a hint of her mood spill into her expression, because Anya added,“Children pretend to be Rangers in the streets.”

Sylvanas scoffed, but Anya expounded, “They play 'Rangers and Wraiths'....Some of them try to speak Thalassian. They-”

“They do not.” Sylvanas hadn't meant for the conviction that poured out with her words, but there it was. Naked and raw in the afternoon.

Anya glanced at her sidelong, “ Why shouldn't they? They've seen us on the ramparts. Seen you and your Rangers defend them from the monsters in the dark.”

_Your Rangers. Not 'Dark Rangers'._

Anya looked proud then, with her chin tilted up and white hair streaming behind her in the wind. _No, not proud. Virtuous._ Something lurched, near the base of Sylvanas's spine. Some gear grinding, a clockwork rasp that struggled to catch and move forward. _Honor, she takes this as a matter of honor. Even after following me for these many years. No_. No, the reason enrollment was up was because military service guaranteed security and a future. Room and board and familial housing. _Food and clothing, warmth against the winter._ Stability. _That's it._ Homelessness, desperation, a lack of choice. _That's all. That's it_. Sylvanas pressed her lips together in a frown.

“Anya, my little shrike, _we_ are the monsters in the dark.”

Anya flinched, as if scalded, before the most profound of grins stole across her face,“Shrike?”

Sylvanas floundered, her grip on her belt flexing. A fluttering, a beating of wings in her chest. _I should know this- I should know why she's so happy about some light-damned bird's name._

“Little Shrike,” Ayna repeated, schooling her features into something more appropriate for an audience with her queen. More softly, “ You... you used to call me that.”

_Before, Belore always before_.

Could she not move on, try to be someone- _anyone-_ else? She supposed there was as great irony there, but she couldn't put her fingers on it. Again, Anya's expression was too much to decipher; too fast, too full of history.

Sylvanas's voice was tight when she responded, “Well, you're as much a lark as you are a butcher,” she cleared her throat, “Was there anything else?”

Anya's features darkened, she said sourly, “Yes. More 'Well wishes'.”

Sylvanas's features clouded in turn. “Ah. Delightful.”

Anya's contempt was endearing, it reminded Sylvanas of how well Jaina had adjusted to living here. She'd won over the Dark Rangers with an astounding ease. _Charmed them handily, half ruined and battered from shipboard battle_. Jaina had only been her resilient, cantankerous self. _And it doesn't hurt that she practically drips arcane._ Sylvanas took it as a matter of course that the Rangers would take Jaina's safety as a high priority, but the personal investment was... unnecessary. _Was nice_.

It was pleasant to have her rangers to gripe with about the constant influx of letters. To have a shared petty annoyance- _something_ new _to joke about._ And Humour, In the face of a real an incessant clamor for 'The Grand Admiral of the United Coalition Fleet', was welcome. The letters were of course not worded as such. Ostensibly, they were only well wishes; glad tidings wishing speedy recovery. It was thinly veiled, and clumsily done, in Sylvanas's opinion. The greed, the boorish grasping and pleading for Jaina to bring her ship and her magic and dispel the storms off their coasts was apparent. Infuriating. It angered Sylvanas in a way that was unfamiliar. It wasn't cold and detached, the way she was used to. Layered and smoothed to practicality under careful plans and tactics. This was spiky and graceless and feral. _Hasn't Jaina given enough of herself already?_ Couldn't she be allowed to recover in peace? Was it not enough that she had built up a whole fleet while she was supposed to be convalescing? A whole naval base and a dedicated navy blossoming out in the dockyard of Orgrimmar, growing and sprawling- thriving. _But no- they must send overtures and pleading and thin guile to try and win her favor and sympathy_.

As if Jaina wasn't already conspiring to slip aboard _Legacy_ at this very moment.

Sylvanas curbed the impulse to spit. “Did you intercept the missives?”

Anya produced a parcel from her pouch and handed it off, “Naturally.”

“And she knows?”

Anya shrugged. “The Grand Admiral keeps regular hours in 'Little Theramore'... You could always make an appointment.”

Sylvanas didn't know which to address first. The infernal name for the quarter growing like weeds around the Naval base, or-

“An appointment. To see. My wife.”

Anya bore her teeth in a glittering display, “ A request, Ranger-General? Never fear, I had one arranged for you.”

_Dont call me that._

“I should hurl you off the tower.”

Anya had the brass to roll her eyes, even as she rocked forward on her heels over the open air, “Command it, and I'll jump, My Queen.”

Sylvanas hissed an indignant sound, but it was half hardhearted at most.

“Come away from there,” She found herself saying, and added under her breath, “Or I shall be tempted to kick you.”

“Then who'll be your dear Admiral's favorite nagging shadow?”

“Velonara, or Lyana will suffice.”

“Cold.”

“Cruel too, don't forget.”

“Impossible.” Anya rubbed her fingers, flexing them against the chill that even the dead could feel, “oh, and while I'm in the business of memory, that appointment is just before dinner this evening.”

Sylvanas closed her eyes. _Impertinent, invasive, churlish_... but She couldn't be mad. The anger wouldn't come; she couldn't summon it from the swirling mess of thoughts. She reached for it and instead- wrapped a clumsy fist around gratitude.

“Thank you.”

Anya blinked, dazed, her ears alert like she'd heard the bugle call to arms.

Sylvanas crossed the small distance and clasped Anya's arm, brought their foreheads together. “You are a good friend, and a good soldier.”

Sylvanas withdrew quickly, hastily before she could embarrass herself with more pathos. She was too late, however, and her words slipped from her into the wind as she slung her bow over her shoulder, “When the children play in the street, I hope they use your name.”

“Sylvanas?”

She almost didn't turn. She had been about to vault down, to retreat somewhere away from this, and bide her time until she could finally be with Jaina, but... She stiffened, peered back.

“Anya?”

Anya swallowed, taken aback as if she hadn't actually expected Sylvanas to respond.

“You- they pretend to be you.”

It should have bothered her more.

Or it shouldn't have bothered her at all.

_Either. Both._

“So do I.”

She jumped from the tower.

She considered getting flowers on her way down. Dismissed it. _Trite._

Sylvanas had come, in some way to crave the glory, the praise- _the recognition-_ that the whispers instigated. Her efforts, her sacrifices had earned her renown in life. They had once again, in death. The satisfaction that protecting her people and providing for them shouldn't have thrilled her. It was routine- what was expected. Duty. What she had always done and would continue to do... but she could not deny the vindication that shot through her. It was gratifying to be seen that way- to have her name uttered with awe and not disgust. She hadn't realized she'd become so deplorably soft- that what someone, especially the untrained and uneducated masses- thought of her might matter so much.

But it did.

And it was a bitter thing.

She hated that it was _now_ that they saw her as their champion. Only now that she was sacrificing her independence to a fragile alliance of dying states that she was seen as worthy of their praises. Now that she was finally married, but couldn't keep her wife happy or in good health; Now, and not before, not at the peak of power, not on the precipice of what could have been their most paramount and unchallenged victory. _No, now_. Sylvanas resented that in away that could only be expressed in ballads, in old tongues. Modern syllables didn't have the breadth.

The sudden change in opinion did mean that Sylvanas was a more welcome sight, but it didn't mean reverence or healthy fear of her had abated. It only meant that she walked more openly in her city, with perhaps a bit less caution. A bit less heavily armed than she was wont to do previously. She didn't roam the city at odd hours anymore to avoid crowds. She personally saw to new fortifications, toured the barracks in daylight- was seen at the market, seen while on patrols- Lor'themar encouraged it, her Rangers seemed to revel in it. Sylvanas convinced herself she didn't care either way.

Walking in the new Naval district was a journey in itself anyway, and today it pleased Sylvanas to make the trip openly. The warrens of winding ice corridors and quinzees that mages had reinforced were quaint. Homey. _Efficient and a sound use of resources_. Spelled paper lanterns and ice lattices broke the monotony. It made the place seem much less a product of desperate necessity and more something- _something more_. Banners hung down from high snowy arches bearing various coats of arms, serving to designate which areas of the sprawling burrow one had wandered into- _mages, sailors, craftsmen,merchants_. Even though Jaina had only done a cursory amount of work- an advisory position and nothing more as Sylvanas insisted- the design had Jaina's fingerprints all over it. _Little Theramore indeed._

As Sylvanas made her way from the residential area and into more of the port proper, the streets broadened and the colors of the lanterns and banners changed on the main drag. Kul Tiran green, Horde purple, bright Alliance blues, and the new United Fleet's standard. Here too, with the brusque and urgent trade coming through the ports, the atmosphere was strange- _not strange, vibrant. Happy. Content._

Closer now to the offices and outbuildings of the base, the banners changed once more, a more official bent. Above on the main flag pole, to signify residence, The Grand Admirals personal pennant snapped smartly in the wind. A red drake, neatly beheaded, curving over a field of blue and green. Not so long ago Sylvanas would have taken it as a threat, to see the rise of another faction in her Horde. A potential coup, a flux of power, the drama of ego... Now, she walked calmly through a throng of sailors and petty officers that scurried out of her way. Was on her way to the offices of what could have been a grand rival. _My wife_. Her stomach still did a flutter, a roll when she thought about Jaina in those terms.

When she thought of Jaina in general.

And while Anya's impertinence had been well, impertinent, the result was not unwanted.

Sylvanas was loath to admit, that despite her best efforts, she had been unable to completely prevent Jaina from resuming her duties. The mage had proved impossible to deny, and damnably hard to deter. She had, after all, only asked for one thing- to work, and Sylvanas found it hard not to give in. She hadn't been able to keep Jaina to quarters for more than a week before she'd insisted on being allowed to do at least paperwork in bed. That at least seemed to make Jaina content, if not happy.

It wasn't that Sylvanas wasn't grateful. She could see having Jaina as the treasure it was. Her skills her power, her mind and dedication. Sylvanas still regarded it as some ill begotten blessing that she was able to hold Jaina at night. And it wasn't that Sylvanas didn't do the little things that someone in love did; She ensured Jaina's clothes were clean and pressed, that whatever food Jaina could be coaxed into requesting was already ready. Sylvanas knew that she was a terror when it came to seeing that any possible want Jaina could have would be met- if only Jaina ever asked for anything. _She never wants anything.  
  
_ Since Jaina had returned injured- _in pieces, mana scared- delectable_ \- Sylvanas had been in almost open rebellion with herself. She was filled with desire to destroy what had brought Jaina harm... but that would have been, in part Jaina herself, _and Jaina already obliterated that beast of the deeps_. Still, it didn't deter the manic, restless energy that prodded Sylvanas to tend to her mate. Jaina looked so small, so human and tired. Sylvanas had bent herself to fulfilling anything Jaina might need. Healers, food, furs, fire. Made sure that there was always someone a call away who could meet her requests. But Jaina hadn't asked for anything, not one thing; nothing frivolous, no favors, or even preferential treatment as Sylvanas's wife. Only to be let back to work, with little regard to her own condition. Sylvanas wanted to heap hoards of gifts upon Jaina, to hunt for her and present the kills, to find the softest fabrics and drape her in them, reward her for coming home victorious; install her in a place of honor. Jaina it seemed, was entirely indifferent to her efforts. It was bringing Sylvanas close to the edge of patience- _How could one be so willing to please someone, and yet yearn to provoke them just for the attention?_ It seemed that the only expressions Jaina wore these days were ones of habitual fatigue, and a clinical detachment aimed at her profession. _  
_

Sylvanas felt herself frowning and schooled herself.

When they'd written before their marriage, and while Jaina had been at sea, Sylvanas had felt... Intimate. She knew she took up residence in Jaina's mind because she had the ink smudged along the parchment and Jaina's perfume on the page. Had proof of wants and desires, affections, written evidence to go on, and stolen moments of passion. Now... Now Sylvanas had Jaina close, but had no idea what she was thinking, or what she felt. Despite living with Jaina, finally having her under her roof and sharing quarters, Sylvanas saw less of her. She let Jaina sleep as late as possible- didn't disturb her rest; and when Sylvanas's own obligations were finished in the evening, Jaina was often already asleep. To be able to hold her, but to know less of her mind and desires... It was a confounding contradiction. Sylvanas did not want to suffocate Jaina but.. but she wasn't-

_what, satisfied?_

_You dither over Satisfaction?_

_It is not for you to be satisfied- you should be grateful . Grateful she returned home, grateful she ever returned one letter... Instead you fret like a school girl about whether or not she spends thoughts on you._

Sylvanas flicked back her hood, scraped the snow off her boots. She caught the attention of the guards at the door. They nodded and offered smart salutes as she passed. Sylvanas was pleased to see that they had white armbands, chased with red serpents. It made some of her paranoia about leaving Jaina without a personal guard ease. It wasn't a core of highly devoted undead Rangers, but it was something between Jaina and threat, and Sylvanas wouldn't object. After _Legacy_ had returned to port, the stories and rumors of the battle had swollen to massive proportions and Sylvanas hadn't discouraged them. She'd let them build, let them grow. _Let them think Jaina is a beast, some monster not to be trifled with- it is true after all. Daughter of the Sea_. A reputation was a good shield. Sylvanas knew that as well as anyone. And the flood of recruits and stability that came with a well run shipping district with a strong Naval presence... well, Sylvanas didn't oppose that either.

Sylvanas paused, coming into the office reception, and waited for the busy secretary to look up from their desk. They didn't. Sylvanas took the moment to admire the painting, a tasteful production of oils on canvas. _A commission from Anduin_. Jaina looked impossibly regal in three quarters profile. The background, a stormy iron gray made her seem fair and fearsome in her Admiralty garb. Sylvanas couldn't help but linger on the metal, glinting in her ear against the white of her hair. _I'm there, even in her portrait of office_. It shouldn't have made her smile.

Sylvanas cleared her throat.

The officer didn't look up, instead, they intoned blandly, “The Grand Admiral is indisposed. If you are a petitioner, leave your name in the ledger. Otherwise, recruitment and general affairs are down the hall.”

Sylvanas raised her eyebrows, kept her voice low and neutral, “I have an appointment.”

The secretary still didn't look up from their stack of scrolls, “ You're early. The Admiral is not to be disturbed.”

Sylvanas wasn't entirely displeased. They were obviously either dedicated or dispassionate enough to follow orders to the letter, and again, that would serve her wife well. _They will all serve well, or they won't serve at all_. Sylvanas had vetted all of the office staff after their appointments. _Naturally_. She would have been ashamed to have done anything less.

“Not even by her wife?”

The secretary's head shot up, ears back, anxious eyes meeting Sylvanas's. They shuffled their papers, glanced at the door to the other room. Back to Sylvanas. They seemed to gather themself, and stiffened their spine.

“The Grand Admiral left clear instructions not to be disturbed.”

_That took fortitude._

“Is she alone?”

The secretary didn't respond. They checked their ledger. “You're the five bells?”

“Yes.”

They swallowed, tried to sound firm, “T- Then you can see her at five bells.”

Sylvanas snorted, hanging her cloak on the stand in the corner, opposite the desk. It was a spartan area, not a hint of decadence other than the flags flanking the desk, and the tasteful portrait. Jaina wouldn't hear of anything decorative, not during such lean times- no matter how much Sylvanas had tried to persuade her otherwise.

Sylvanas regarded the young half- elf coolly, and then lifted her chains out from under her leathers. The anchor and ring rested against her chest, glittering in the tinted mage light. If the youngster wasn't sure she really was who she said, this was likely to assuage doubt. The trinkets were heavy with Jaina's own magics, and anyone could have seen that, eyes or no. The secretary made a token gesture to call for the guards in the hall, but they did not look convinced that they should. Sylvanas relented.

“I shall see her now, but your attempts are commendable. I'll have The Admiral know you did your best.”

“I'm – I'm putting it in the books. S- So you know.”

Sylvanas cocked her head to the side. “What now?”

“Five bells, early,” A tense swallow, and then another glance to the office door, “Insistent and belligerent. For the records, you must understand. No one gets past me.”

“I see. As you will-?.”

“Officer Mayweather, Midshipman, first rate.”

“So you say, Mayweather. Five bells, early belligerent. Add wifely concern to the card. See to it that we are not disturbed?”

Mayweather had the decency to hide their scowl,“As I saw to The Grand Admiral?”

“Just so.”

Sylvanas considered knocking, but when she placed a hand on the door, the wards hummed in recognition. Her presence here had been accounted for at some point...and she did want to surprise Jaina. She regretted not purchasing the flowers. She passed in easily, quietly, and with no sign.

The smell hit her first.

 _Sweet, cloying, magnetic_. Something she'd missed dearly. And then confusion.

_In her office?_

But there Jaina was. One booted heel up on the massive desk with her knee bent wide, chair tilted back at an angle, face flushed and tucked against her shoulder. Sylvanas swallowed. Licked her lips. Swallowed again.

She watched the subtle movements of her shoulder, an indication of action, of- Jaina's brows knit- _of frustration?_

Sylvanas wanted badly, to stride forward, to take Jaina's hand in hers- put those fingers in her mouth before she sunk down to her knees and-

Unasked for, disparaging anger shot through her. It burned, chasing after the longing and desire in her belly. _Why? She doesn't want you- she'd rather hide in her office than endure your touch, she doesn't ask you for anything because she has never-_

“... _please-_ I-...”

Sylvanas inhaled sharply and was momentarily mortified that she'd given herself away, but Jaina didn't hear. She'd snared her bottom lip as she frowned; sighed, as she worked her hand roughly beneath her uniform pants.

Sylvanas had been so careful not to project her own desires or expectations upon Jaina. Had been diligent in Jaina's care. Methodical in her treatments. Ensured comfort, that any possible need had been met. _Any possible need? Apparently not._

Jaina's chair creaked- an ornate lovely thing, a gift- her braced leg straightened under tension, only to relax again as she hissed in disappointment. Jaina clenched her jaw, her hand working furiously for a moment longer before she huffed, and brought her other hand up to pinch at the bridge of her nose.

A few breaths passed, and Sylvanas still hadn't moved. Jaina hadn't finished either.

She could almost taste the frustration.The bead of sweat pearled at Jaina's temple called to her. The faint blush of red across collarbones, hardly exposed by the messed collar of her uniform all the more erotic. Sylvanas wanted to test that skin against her teeth, wanted to trace along those glittering mana burns, imagined they'd tingle electric against her tongue. Did not want to hurt her. Wanted to eat her alive. Wanted to undress her, here in her office and hear the sound of her sigh bleed into pleasure and surrender.

Sylvanas came to her senses about the same time Jaina did. They locked eyes for a moment before Jaina lurched back, her chair thudding to all fours as she hastily sought a more dignified posture.

“What are you doing here?”

Sylvanas did her best not to bristle. It was not the welcome such a display might have indicated. “Lovely to see you too, Wife.”

Embarrassment was clear, stamped bright on Jaina's face like each freckle, “That's- that is... What I meant was....” Annoyance crept into the corners of Jaina's mouth. But it was difficult to place where it was aimed.

“Was?” Sylvanas took a few paces towards the solid desk- another gift she'd provided- “What did you mean to say ?”

Jaina, flustered and vulnerable was an easy target for Sylvanas's simmering frustration. A frustration that was suddenly very, very present. She clenched her hands behind her back. Willed herself to be still. Hoped the petty feeling would pass.

Jaina exhaled, slow and protracted, then covered her face with her hand. “I have only a few minutes before my last engagement. Can we speak after?”

“I do not see how a welcome requires a long explanation. Few minutes should suffice.”

“Sylvanas.”

“Jaina.”

Jaina ran her tongue over her teeth, and then set her shoulders. “I had hoped to speak to you tonight. This is perhaps, not the best venue for a private discussion.”

“Ah, so that's how you meant to greet me.” Sylvanas couldn't stop the cool condescension edging into her tone.

Jaina cracked back, “I haven't had much occasion to greet you at all.”

Sylvanas dug her fingers into her palms, felt her gloves threatening failure at ill use. How was it that she had managed to turn a surprise chance for intimacy into something so ugly? And worse, Jaina was finally expressing something other than fatigue and a penchant for paperwork- _embarrassment, annoyance, hurt_. Her eyes looked red-rimmed now, as if she was about to cry. Her hands, spread wide on the dark desk, hid a fine tremor. Jaina looked away first. Her sharp reply echoed in Sylvanas's head. ' _Haven't much occasion...'_ ?

“Is- Why were you doing that?”

“What,” Jaina's chin went up, “ will you forebay that too?”

 _Forbid-_ what _? Does she consider me a jailer?_

Sylvanas could not form a reply that would improve the situation. She tightened her jaw, felt the reflexive flattening of her ears. A classic display of defensive aggression.

Jaina read her body language, made an attempt to reign whatever it was she was wrestling with. She took a deep breath, and Sylvanas had to momentarily look away. She could still smell Jaina's arousal, could still hear the sound of fingers against wet skin. Craved it. Finding her wife attractive like this was not likely to be productive. But the desire was there too, woven into the hesitation and balky anger, a tapestry of things she didn't know how to say right. She tried anyway.

"No. I'd only suggest that you invite relevant parties." Sylvanas meant for it to be an invitation, but it came out an accusation and she felt herself cringe.

Jaina sucked air through her teeth, eyes narrowing.

Sylvanas spoke quickly, trying to salvage the conversation,"Have I ever spurred an advance?"

The furrow between Jaina's brows deepened, a growing objection and Sylvanas found herself too nervous to wait for what she was going to say. She answered her own question.

"No, I haven't. If you were in need, you only had to ask."

Jaina shifted, her eyes flicked toward the door. "Are you well today?"

"Pardon?"

"You are usually on patrol at this time," Jaina's gaze was suddenly keen, concerned as it scoured over Sylvanas's form, "You're not hurt are you?"

"Can one only see their wife when mortally wounded?" Again, too much disappointment, too much ire.

Jaina responded in kind, "Oh, what a change that would be."

Sylvanas's lip pulled up from her teeth, an involuntary tick as she stepped forward, "Wh-"

Jaina silenced her with wave, eyes cut to the door once more, "This really isn't the time."

Stunned, Sylvanas thought she was actually blushing. She stood ridged as Jaina glanced at the time piece, "My next appointment is due any moment and I-"

"No.You need to-"

"Stop telling me what I need." Jaina interrupted her again, rocking forward in her seat. She looked like she was going to reach for Sylvanas, but stopped herself. Put her hands flat back on the desk.

Sylvanas froze once more. She could not recall a time Jaina had raised her voice like this. Guilt sluiced in, quenching some of the satisfaction that came from seeing Jaina animated about something- anything. Sylvanas wanted to explain herself, but pride seemed a mountain too impossible to shift.

".... I've tried to." So, so quiet. Jaina was staring down at her hands, at the etchings of spiraling burns, "But you.. you dont- you put my hands aside. You hold me but-" Jaina cleared her throat.

"Do you no longer find me attractive- do you not want me to touch you?"

_I should have brought the flowers_. It would have been at least an object to hide behind. Jaina was always so solid- always stoic and unflaggingly sure in her affections. Sylvanas didn't know what to do in the face of this particular storm. She tried to recall if such a statement had tangible basis in reality. Had Jaina's sleepy touches been more than a want of comfort? Had her offers to help Sylvanas with 'work' been invitations to 'more' because... _It was unthinkable. Not wanting her?_ Unthinkable- no, a common thread that Sylvanas might have noticed if-

But now that Jaina had started, she didn't seem able to stop. Fast, with her voice a pitch higher she continued to stare at her hands as she spoke,

"You're not there when I wake, and you don't let me do anything for you, I feel so useless- so there's nothing left for me to do but to work-” A grinding of teeth, the rush of breath - “ I try to stay awake at night to see you, I really do but I can't and I know I'm not as strong as before but -are you avoiding our bed? Is it the scars? Did I do something wrong? Are you angry with me?"

When Sylvanas didn't answer, Jaina's head came up. Sylvanas didn't want to see her like this. Couldn't look away.

"Is it because- because I'm alive, and the scars are reminders that I will age? That I'll decay- it reminds you too much of your own fate? If you'd just consider that I'd rather- that I don't _want_ to die Sylvanas. I want to be with you for an embarrassingly long time-"

"Jaina." Sylvanas couldn't process meaning as fast as Jaina could bite out the words, "Wait-"

"No, I-"

"A moment of silence while I-"

"Silence?” Jaina sounded incredulous, the tendons in her neck taught under tension as her shoulders snapped back, “ That's all you've truly given me. I'm surrounded with your city, and your rangers and your endless gifts but I cant sink my fingers into you and it's driving me mad."

"Jaina-"

"No- Sylvanas- you asked for an explanation. What I mean to say? A greeting? Well- here it is. Hello Sylvanas, I'm in my office, trying to rub one out to the memory of you in me because you haven't let me touch you in weeks. Hello- I feel like a leper- I want to feel like you want me- at least when I was fucking you, I knew that you loved me. Now I feel like burden, an invalid you tolerate as an obligation. Some interesting oddity that you've collected and must maintain."

Sylvanas recoiled. _A burden? Never. Not once in a thousand lifetimes_. And Gods old and new, Jaina did look magnificent now, righteous and powerful and angry. _Too good_. Not want her? _Impossible_. Sylvanas took another step back, if only to stop from doing something stupid.

Jaina got to her feet, rounded the desk, "I can't find respite on the waves, I can't find it in our bed, and you wont give me the time-"

_Won't give?_ That snapped Sylvanas out of her complacency. _Madness._

"Won't give you?" Her tone, sharp and sudden gave Jaina pause. Sylvanas capitalized on it. "I have given you-"

"I don't want your _things_ ," Jaina spat, "I want _you_."

It wasn't just, it wasn't fair to have things turned on her like this. Ire, spite, stymied affection, frustrated instincts. The web of feelings snared her, tried to drag her down. _No._ She was a good partner, able to protect, to provide.

"You don't get to-"

"To what, Sylvanas? Have feelings- not everyone has the luxury."

"To keep them from me." Sylvanas was breathing heavily, hated her own weakness, the volume her voice took on. "You don't _say_ anything anymore."

Jaina blanched, her chest rising and falling sharply.

"Have I not provided you with the very best possible care?” Sylvanas rounded on her, using her personal gravity like a weapon, “ Have I not confirmed any desire? When you ask, have I ever refused you?"

Sylvanas, close now, was sorely tempted to push Jaina back against that solid desk. As it was, Jaina took a step back of her own accord.

"I haven't asked for any of these things-"

"Ah- there it is." Sylvanas threw up her hands, "You. Don't. You, a mountain of glass, breaking under stoicism. How am I supposed to please you, if you don't _tell_ me how?"

Jaina's eyes were wide, confused. _Angry- aroused_. Exasperatingly attractive. Sylvanas hadn't wanted it to be this way. Shouting her wife down, a fight in public. _How adolescent_. She was glad she hadn't brought the flowers. They stared at each other for another long moment. Then, Jaina extended her hand tentatively, like she was approaching a wounded animal. Like she was afraid Sylvanas would flinch away. Sylvanas didn't, of course. Jaina cupped Sylvanas's cheek, her fingers slipping into her hair.

"I-"

"-I-."

Jaina paused. Rubbed her thumb against the sharp cut of Sylvanas's jaw. "That goes both ways you know. You'll have to tell me, too."

Jaina looked like she was going to cry in earnest now. Sylvanas didn't know if she could bear that, and didn't know how to stop it.

“Please don't cry.” _Worth a shot._  
  
Jaina exhaled through her nose, blinking hard. “I'm not crying.”  
“Of course.”  
  


Sylvanas stood there, not quite being held and not holding. _Not enough_. The argument, for all its unpleasantness, could still be put to some productive end. She had after all, very handily earned herself a litany of grievances. _Valuable information._ Sylvanas tried to regard Jaina with something more than open hunger. It would be easy to take advantage of her like this. Open and hopeful and willing. But Sylvanas, as much as she craved the intimidate satisfaction, was more interested in ensuring wellness. Long-term strategy. _'I want to be with you for an embarrassingly long time_ '. Racing frantically through what she'd heard, Sylvanas cringed again. Too often, it seemed, Jaina bore the brunt of the emotional labor, the small things that made communication so easy. Jaina read her so well, knew what to anticipate, always knew just what to say to sooth her. It was certainly not her own strength. But Sylvanas would try.  
  
“I want you Jaina. I always do.”  
The hand in her hair tightened.

“You're not a burden.”  
Jaina closed her eyes. _Good, okay. You can do this, you're doing it right._

“You do not have to work to be worthy.”  
Jaina's chin tipped down, and Sylvanas spoke into the crown of her head, “If anyone else treated you, the way you treat yourself, I'd have their head on a pike.”  
  


Jaina snorted, a sweet surprised sound that mixed humor with sadness in a way Sylvanas immediately adored.

“I did not intend to push you away. Or bury you under things- well actually,” Sylvanas amended, bemused and unused to being in the role of support, “I did. I- It is an elvish custom, you must know- but I get carried away because I'm really rather fond of you.”

Jaina chuckled, her fingers curling at the seams of her leather jerkin, and Sylvanas was desperate for more. _When did I last hear her laugh?_ When Legacy made birth? _Too long._

“Of course, the less pleased you were with what I presented, the more outrageous I needed to be. Did you know I nearly went behind your back and had a new galleon commissioned from the shipwrights- no, I didn't- I said _nearly_. And no- not for the Navy, for your own personal use. As if you'd want an oversized yacht when you didn't want a bejeweled letter opener.”  
  


Jaina managed to meet her gaze, and the way she peered up through teary eyelashes was soul crushing. The way she laughed. Tender and and filled with enough adoration that Sylvanas was sure that she needed to be the one offering comfort more often. _If she looks at me like that forever, it will not be for long enough_.

“I never once meant to turn you aside-” Sylvanas said it with as much earnestness as she could muster, trying not to fidget under the weight of Jaina's attention, “ I- I want you. Badly. Most of - _All_ of the time. And many of the things I want to do to you are usually fairly graphic in nature, and not tame at all and I only wish not to hurt you- that's not true either, I do want to hurt you, but not in a way that you wouldn't like, or ask for-”  
  
“Sylvanas Windrunner. You're _rambling_.”  
“No- oh. Yes. I am.”

Sylvanas smoothed her thumbs over hot tear tracks on Jaina's face. Those tears, she reasoned, were better than what might have fallen before.

“I've never heard you ramble before.”

Sylvanas half shrugged, “ That is probable. I am usually well spoken.”  
Jaina scoffed again, her hand thumping against Sylvanas's chest.

It only prompted more, “It's true, it's you that has me so tongue tied. You're lovely.”

Jaina shook her head, sighed, “You are too.” She leaned into Sylvanas's hands, “How do you feel, knowing that I'd rather have you, than all those fine things?”  
“It does wonders for my ego, I assure you.” Sylvanas didn't want to risk a kiss yet, she wasn't sure how it would be received, so she brushed her nose against Jaina's instead, “Though, I really shouldn't be the standard for economic trade. Only one of me and all.”  
“Inflation.”  
“Just so.”  
“I meant your ego.”  
“Ah.”  
  
Another pause, longer this time, and though Sylvanas was justly proud she'd managed to steer them away from a pit of disaster, she was at a loss of what to do now. _I should have brought the damn flowers._

  
“I'm sorry,” Jaina sighed, “I was... insecure.”  
“I shouldn't have given you occasion to be.”  
Jaina's hands moved higher up her back as she pressed forward, hiding her face in the side of Sylvanas's neck. _That's good._ Sylvanas pursed her lips, glad Jaina couldn't see her expression as she floundered for the right phrases. “We should.. talk more.” She made an exaggerated wince at the empty room, just for the catharsis of it. She waited for Jaina's reply and toyed with the tuft of the end of her braid.

“I was really going to tell you- tonight. I was.” Jaina's lips brushed the skin just below her ear, and Sylvanas could not think of a torment as sweet as keeping her own grip chaste.  
  
“I'm sure your version of the conversation would have been more elegant.”  
“I doubt it.”  
“Why's that?”  
“I was just going to try and fuck the confession I wanted out of you.”

Sylvanas heard the catch of breath in her own throat. _Embarrassing._ But the purr of Jaina's voice, the bold bravado that came with her naval position was attractive. Further addled her capacity for speech.  
“Do- erm. Have you abandoned such a strategy?”

Jaina pulled back, regarding her with careful consideration. “No... Just amended it.”  
She tugged at Sylvanas's leathers again, and Sylvanas followed, until Jaina was trapped between her and the lip of the heavy desk.

“What-” Sylvanas gave in, finally, kissed a delicate trail up her neck to a foolishly small, rounded ear, “What is the first addendum?”  
Jaina hummed, tracing down Sylvanas's chest, before moving between them to undo her own belt, only half buckled from before.

“It involves you on your knees-”

  
Sylvanas was already kissing her, trying to be as soft as she knew how, while her hands helped work down the thick canvas of Jaina's pants. When they were past her hips, Sylvanas lifted Jaina onto the edge of the desk and sunk down to her knees. She didn't pay attention to the task of removing Jaina's boots, though she knew she did so with care. Or the matter of freeing Jaina's legs from her pants. Sylvanas was far more concerned with the small sounds Jaina made, with the way her muscles jumped, tensed and finally relaxed, only to repeat the cycle again. Sylvanas was much more absorbed in the way Jaina's skin felt under her hands, the collection of new scars, and testing her theory about the manna burns- and _Belore_ , they tingled and surged under her tongue in a way that might have made her heart beat. And the taste of her? _Anar'alah_ , Sylvanas might as well have been drinking wine from the sunwell. She groaned against Jaina's sex, and felt her fingers clench in her hair, as she worked her tongue and jaw.

  
“Yes,” Jaina sighed, a breath, a precious thing.

  
Sylvanas was conscious of being tender, of slowly encouraging Jaina's leg over her shoulder, of gently supporting more of Jaina's weight. But that was before Jaina was leaning back over the desk and bracing herself with one arm and looking down at her with eyes blue enough to burn. Before she rolled with force against her mouth. Sylvanas's fingers gripped at the back of Jaina's thighs, hard enough to bruise and she fairly growled against Jaina's clit. She didn't have time to pullback, to apologize for the roughness before Jaina climaxed, tugging at her hair. Pulling her up for a hungry, messy kiss.  
  
“I take it back. You're- you're very well spoken.” Jaina muttered between kisses. Jaina's hands seemed to be everywhere, in her hair, along her back, her legs wrapping around her waist and pulling Sylvanas on top of her, over her onto the desk.  
“Blore be praised,” Sylvanas husked, and then, “I didn't hurt you did I?”  
Jaina frowned again, and Sylvanas tried to chase the expression away with a kiss. But Jaina was turning, reaching for something. A drawer of the desk opened, and Jaina pushed something into Sylvanas's hands.

“I was going to speak to you tonight.”  
Sylvanas toyed with the plain brown paper wrapping. “Is this a conversational aid?”  
“Something of the sort...” Jaina was playing with her ears in the most distracting of ways, “Why don't you open it?”  
The leather was soft, well tooled. Something she herself might have picked out. Strangely elegant for a sex toy. She shivered with desire. “And you had hoped to earn my confession with this?”

  
Jaina dragged her tongue along the cartilage of one of Sylvanas's ears, mouthed the tip and Sylvanas swallowed the groan it threatened to pull from her. “W-what confession had you in mind? Just, erm- to be clear, since we agree that we should talk more?”  
  
“That I'm able bodied,” Jaina had managed to undo the laces of Sylvanas's breaches while she'd been distracted with the toy, “but I've changed my strategy. Do keep up Windrunner.”  
“Yes, Lady.” Sylvanas kissed Jaina's cheek, her forehead, her neck, made a nuisance of herself as Jaina continued to work her pants down. “Care to elaborate on this grand plan, Admiral?”

The smooth burr of Jaina's voice was like whiskey, like luxury, “Put that on, and I'll tell you.”  
  
Sylvanas would have felt foolish, fumbling out of her leggings and boots, if not for how much interest and desire Jaina showed. For her own part, Sylvanas was near the point of rambling again.  
  
“I promise I'll be careful, I know we haven't used a- well, we have- _you_ have, and you are _very_ good at it, and I-”  
  


Jaina laughed, but it wasn't derisive, it was musical. Sensual in away that had Sylvanas leaning in to taste it from her lips. And then Jaina's fingers were burrowing up underneath the back of her shirt, digging into her lower back. The kiss took on a different quality, and Jaina caught Sylvanas's bottom lip in her teeth.  
  
“Sylvie, you don't have to be gentle.”

She pulled at the attachment and ground it against Sylvanas hard enough to make her nerves sing.  
  
“I- are you sure-.”  
  
Her nails raked down, digging into Sylvanas's hips. “I'm asking you- that's the plan- fuck me.”  
Sylvanas moaned, and suddenly there wasn't nearly enough of Jaina against her. She couldn't take off that damned starched shirt, and hold her legs. Couldn't grip at her shoulders with the heavy coat in the way.  
  
“Clothes.” Sylvanas said, pulling at the buttons, “Less.”  
Jaina was already rolling her hips though, pulling Sylvanas closer, heels digging into her hamstrings and lower back.

“Do something about them then,” Jaina gasped, grinding against the length of the toy because she hadn't yet managed to work it inside her, “I'm busy.”  
  


“Fine,” Exasperation and pent up sexual aggression made it easy, made pinning Jaina down against the desk natural. The stiff collar and cravat were insignificant, and the buttons of her shirt even more so, “Fine, fine, fine.”  
  
Jaina's sigh of satisfaction when she felt Sylvanas's mouth on her chest was short lived. But only because Sylvanas had finally leaned over her, one hand fisting in Jaina's braid, the other taking a solid grip on the back half of the desk.

“Yes-” Jaina's hands were back, scorching even though her layers in her quest to reach more of Sylvanas's skin “Yes, Sylvie, like that don't make me wait, please-”  
  
Sylvanas didn't. Couldn't. The satisfaction of watching Jaina's head snap back against the wood was too great a temptation. The flush that bled down her neck, over her breasts made the burns stand out like silver gilding. _Art_. She started an easy pace, and left Jaina's braid to push herself up, to see what Jaina looked like. To memorize the the constellations of freckles on her chest, the lines of delicate muscles, the soft definition of her stomach. The way Jaina arched and reached for her, trying to pull her weight back down. When Jaina couldn't, she started pushing up the bottom of Sylvanas's tunic and leathers, shifting herself up to watch Sylvanas's hips work-

  
“- you look so good in me-” Jaina groaned, and Sylvanas had to agree, the way the toy stretched her was a perfect sight. She pushed her back down because she enjoyed the gasp that escaped her, and peppered her throat with soft, light kisses. Nothing too much, nothing too-  
  


“ w- would you please stop teasing me?” It was a whine, and not the kind that Sylvanas wanted.  
She paused, slowing, and the force of Jaina's heels against her doubled.  
“ _No_ \- don't stop.”

Finally, Jaina's clever hands had found a way past the bindings of Sylvanas's shirts, and were against her skin, scraping and digging into her shoulders with a desperation that stole what was left of Sylvanas's breath.  
“I want you to-” Jaina was whispering hotly, as if the admission were too much, “I want you to use me.”  
The idea inflamed Sylvanas, but she was still cautious, couldn't let go of concern.

Jaina pressed on,“Don't you want to make me happy Sylvie?” She rolled her body, the shifting pressure against Sylvanas's clit causing her to jog her hips sharply.

“That's your plan?” She responded hoarsely.

“Is it working?”  
“It's manipulative.” Sylvanas rasped, leaning forward and kissing the underside of Jaina's jaw. It was good, very good, to have Jaina spread out beneath her again. Her pale skin against the lacquer of the wood and the sharp blue of her uniform. _Perfection.  
_ “But is it working?”

“Almost.”  
Jaina hummed a thoughtful, needy sound as Sylvanas rocked forward again, placing more careful kisses against the hollow of her throat.  
“I've seen other couples,” Jaina said softly, seductively, fingers skating up to her scalp, tangling in her hair, “Elvish couples, with marks all over each other. Brazen, possessive, declarative.”  
Sylvanas closed her eyes against the image, mouthing the rise of Jaina's breast. Oh, that was a pretty picture. A wicked, exhibitionist fantasy spiraled out in her mind, and Jaina did nothing to  
dissuade it. Fed into it,  
“Don't you want others to know how well you satisfy me? To see me and know just how thoroughly you can fuck me, how much I want you to- Enough that I wear your marks like your jewelry? For everyone to know _exactly_ who's wife I am?”

Sylvanas gasped at the sudden force of Jaina pulling her head up, the predatory bent of Jaina's gaze as she slowly scraped her fingers along her throat and pressed her thumbs at the base of her ears.  
“Because, Sylvie if I can still walk after this, I'm going to be so disappointed- and everyone will know.”

Sylvanas broke. Whatever restraint she'd had vanished. Jaina knew what to say, which weakness to exploit- and Sylvanas couldn't care-All that mattered was replacing that expression with breathless need. With the satisfaction and dazed glassy eyes of someone too thoroughly fucked to care.  
  
“- _yes_ -”  
  
If Jaina could still speak, Sylvanas wasn't sure she was doing her job well enough. She preferred the incoherent sounds, at moments like this, sounds that were beyond verbalization, but so well expressed. “ Louder Jaina- if you really want them to know.”  
  


That loud, low moan was a good start. Sylvanas used the desk as ballast in earnest now, working up to a more demanding pace. Another gasp, a shudder, something that might have been a curse. Then, “More-”  
 _More?_  
Jaina's fingernails were digging blunt little crescents into the meat of her shoulders, as she matched Sylvanas's hips with her own, “More, I want you to come first, I want you to _use_ me, I'm serious Sylvanas I want to give you something, I-”  
  
“Enough,” Sylvanas growled against Jaina's throat, but Jaina didn't take it as a threat. Not at all.  
“Yes, Tides, yes Sylvie, growl when you fuck me. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

She lost the thread of it though, the rumble breaking into a breathless panting as Sylvanas took what Jaina had on offer, shifting her legs, changing the angle so that the base of the toy hit her own clit just so.  
“That's it-” Jaina encouraged her as Sylvanas's head dropped against her shoulder, “- you can do it- more. Just a bit more, gods, but you're so pretty while you fuck me.”

  
Jaina had maneuvered her hand into the scant space between them, and started working on herself. _Delicious, sinful, Amazing but also-_  
“No-”  
Sylvanas snatched Jaina's hand away, pinned it above her head.  
“You want me to use you, to ruin you?- Congratulations,” Sylvanas kissed her roughly, “ you get your wish.”  
  
Jaina cried out, a lovely sound. Sylvanas imagined that if anyone could hear it, everyone could. Everyone would know exactly what they were doing, and how well Sylvanas could tend to her partner's whims. But Sylvanas wasn't heartless, not in this sense. She was close, so terribly close, could feel the tension building in her toes and creeping up her calves. She had the idea through the haze of her own lust that Jaina must be getting close too, with the way she was stuttering, tensing and not quite able to match each thrust.

“Are you satisfied yet, dear one?” Sylvanas purred, letting her fangs graze between Jaina's breasts to gauge the reaction- _overwhelmingly positive._  
  
“-no-”  
“Pity, I'm about to come.”

Sylvanas nipped at her, harder than she had before, and Jaina arched up into the contact, greedy and eager. Matched it with a sharp thrust that earned her a gasp.

“ _oh_ -I think you lied.”  
“Yes- no- please-”  
Sylvanas was close, very close, still, she didn't want this to end. It seemed special, debauched in a way that she so seldom indulged in. She wanted to remember how lovely Jaina looked, her hair a tousled river of silver spilling off of the desk. The way she was grasping at her, the sound of their skin meeting. Sylvanas was glad she'd insisted on such a sturdy piece of furniture for the office.

  
“I think I won't even have to touch your clit for you to finish,” Sylvanas huffed, licking sweat from her shoulder, back along the spiraling trails of silver beneath Jaina's skin. She wondered what it would feel like if she bit down there. Hard. Broke the surface. Would the magic wash over her tongue, overpower the taste of copper? What would it be like, as sweet as her climax had been? She tested the skin at the crook of Jaina's neck, and Jaina made a needy urgent affirmation, tugging sharply at Sylvanas's hold.

“Greedy thing-wasn't this supposed to be about my pleasure?”  
  


Jaina's knees pressed in tight against Sylvanas's flanks, and her free arm tried to loop around her neck, a desperate bid at closeness. Jaina tried to speak, and Sylvanas watched the slide of her throat, fascinated that she was able to fuck the words from her. That she was able to render someone like Jaina speechless. And then, Jaina really was coming.But Sylvanas couldn't watch anymore because her climax had snuck up on her while she was distracted, a wave pleasure and affection so keen that all of the desperate speculation about sinking her teeth into Jaina couldn't be hypothetical.

“Fuck-” a harsh gasp, and a more gut-wrenching moan of satisfaction, “- _yes_.”  
  
It did taste like arcane, like Jaina's magic, like sex, so much _her_ , that Sylvanas cried out too, muffled against her skin as she finished. Jaina was a gasping, shuddering mess, and as quickly as she could, Sylvanas pushed her hand between them. In a moment, Jaina came again. Quickly. Beautifully. Sylvanas let go of her just in time to watch Jaina mouth her name. Watch her eyes close as she tensed once more before she relaxed, boneless against the wood.  
  
Jaina looked like an unwrapped winter-veil gift, her uniform wrinkled and missing pins and buttons, but more- She looked _happy_. _Satisfied_. Sylvanas played with the wisps of hair, damp curls that framed Jaina's cheekbones and brows. Kissed her eyelids. She didn't know what to say. Thank you didn't seem appropriate. Even though she was thankful. Jaina's breathing slowed, but she made no attempt at movement.

  
Then, rather abruptly Jaina started up, groaned. Then laughed, “We- I can't believe- In my office- ” more laughter and she was hugging Sylvanas close, nuzzling into her neck, a disbelieving groan “I was supposed to have one more appointment. Do you think they just went home?”

Sylvanas cleared her throat. Her legs still tingled, and she could still feel the phantom buzz of Jaina's skin, her blood and magic in her mouth. “No. Not yet.”  
  
Jaina's head was back against the desk as if she hadn't the strength to hold it up on her own. She raised her eyebrows.  
  
Sylvanas licked her lips, a sly smile, “ It's hard to go home, with my cock still hilted in you.”  
  
Jaina was laughing again, that deep rich sound that turned into a lighter, musical lilt, “ _My_ cock.”  
  
“Whichever. We can have joint custody.”

  
Jaina's lazy smile was a thing of beauty. “Thank you, Sylvie.”  
  
When Jaina said it, it didn't sound out of place, or forced. It sounded right. Sylvanas shook her head slowly. She wanted to say the right things too. Instead what she said was,  
  
“I was going to bring you flowers.”  
  
Jaina blinked, cupped her cheek, “Sweet girl. My Queen. My wife,” She kissed her nose, “ You're a massive dork.”

Sylvanas's smile was so wide, it almost hurt, “Yes. Will you come home with me?”

“Will we continue our conversation?”

Sylvanas chuckled, a real, warm sound. It surprised her, but Jaina didn't seem phased. She seemed radiant, some sort of military goddess under her, temporarily disarmed by fond feelings. She didn't look less powerful than she normally did, even half dressed and splayed on her back on her own desk. Didn't look less in control for all Sylvanas wore the strap.

“We can talk for as long as you like.”  
“I can talk for a long time Sylvie.”  
Sylvanas rolled her eyes, leaning in to kiss her sweetly even as she swallowed the gasp that followed the cant of her hips- “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really interested in conflict that escalated, but that ultimately had low stakes and resolved with sex, because I really only want happy soft gays.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As usual, high risk, low stakes. No one dies, and there's lots of found family simping.  
> Be well, sorry its so late <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For ease of understanding, I've tried to format it so that any external "dialog" in italics as Thalassian, unless otherwise specified. I'm trying something out with Jaina POV to show how she understands/doesn't understand language, and the gaps are represented by dashes.

Jaina tugged at the furs as she shifted, letting her book rest open on her chest. She stared up at the ceiling, the lines of paint blurring together... Jaina closed her eyes, exhaled slowly, let the weight of the book ground her in the window seat. 

She blinked a few times, and focused on the old faded strokes on the ceiling; a mural commissioned by some hunter who fancied themself a great patron of the arts. Counting the brilliant blue fairydragons and golden hawkstriders, Jaina was able to put down the first round of restless, claustrophobic panic the mana spikes brought. She at least had experience with the gradual onset now, and knew how to calm the feeling before it grew out of proportion. Over the crackle of the fire, she could hear them in the other room. She listened to Anya’s staccato laugh, and the more subdued but bright sound of Liadrin’s scoff in response; Lor’themar’s rising quip and Sylvanas’s slow drawl with Nathanos following dryly behind. It was familiar, relaxing. _Home._

A comfort against the prickling raise of goosebumps along her arms. 

The fight aboard _Legacy_ had left her feeling more than just drained. _Turned inside out, and discarded._ Jaina had assumed she was permanently damaged. Her skin, scars, her very veins itched, and it made her short tempered and anxious. 

Jaina rolled to the side, letting her forehead rest against the chill of the pane. The night seemed calm enough, the moon full-faced and bright with cold fire. It was soothing, if a poor substitute for her wife’s touch. 

In spite of the prescribed bedrest, Jaina had added fundamentals to her recovery regimen. _Cantrips_ . Exercises one might assign to a child to detect magical aptitude. It had been the perfect thing to hide her condition- because why would an archmage play at something like that, if not to deliberately flout orders of rest? _Or to ruffle her doting wife’s feathers_ ? Though the rangers casually mentioned her mana signature, Jaina hadn’t been able to cast even the smallest spell without immense effort. Mana she might have had, but control over it, she lacked. _Sorely._ The concentration to produce a guttering mage light had beaded her brow with sweat. Despite Jaina’s quips and insistence of wellness, she’d had little show for her labor; only pain. Physical pain yes, unsurprising, but the pain of pride, and ego death; the loss of an identity as an Arch Mage. _A heavy thing_. Jaina hadn’t been able to process it. So, obstinately, she hadn’t. Instead, she buried herself in construction of the Naval quarters, in work. In anything. 

Until one morning, in her office, Jaina had nearly killed herself. _An accident_ . The memory was humorous now, at the time, it had been anything but. She'd been trying to warm her coffee, a simple thing the lowest apprentice could do. But she couldn’t. Not even by the smallest margin. Vertigo and nausea from the effort had made her grit her teeth. The sheer humiliation of it had made her so angry. _Hot_ . And then she'd blown the mug clean apart. She had been so surprised, she hardly noticed Mayweather when they charged in. Jaina'd seen their frantic expression, purpled by the shield she couldn't quite remember casting. After confirming with her bristling, protective secretary that there’d been no assassination attempt, and soldiering through some overzealous first aid, Jaina returned to work. Something like hope had filled her as she sunk into a new task; putting the mug back together. _Without accidentally shattering it again_. It had taken her weeks. 

It became abundantly clear that whatever she did came out as a hammer stroke- all force instead of finesse. It was torturous to maintain a constant vigilance- a clumsy flame charm would be as good as a fireball. _That, and the fact that the mana almost begged to be used_ . It seemed to have its own drive, its own wants- a _desire_ to be spent. Jaina wondered privately, if that's how fel casters were seduced, how mages mad with power felt as they made a phylactery. How addicts felt when they claimed that the mana made them speak in tongues. 

Knowing that the rush of restlessness and empty agitation she felt now were symptoms of the magic, made it easier to identify. Easier to manage. _If you can identify something; you have power over it_ . Runes operated on that principal, summoning spells, binding spells. Wards. _Power._ Jaina sighed. She made a conscious effort to feel the soft fur against the backs of her knees. _Power and control._

The loss of control was worse than the permanent scarring; worse than being left without magic altogether. Call it Kul Tiran pride- _Or pig-headed tenacity-_ but Jaina refused to be made helpless. _Again_ . She had always maintained a complex relationship with power. Naturally, she wasn’t satisfied with being solely an instrument of force. So, she went ahead assigned herself to the oversight and maintenance of the city’s wards. Making a magical exercise of their upkeep became a hobby. _Useful, practical and proactive._ An outlet for her frustration. Jaina came to make a macabre game of it. To see how small a thread of magic she could weave into other Magistrix's workings became enjoyable, despite the way it made her sweat. To see how thinly she could tie herself to a ward, how long, and to what intensity she could push power into the defenses became almost pleasurable. A private competition- to carve herself from a hammer to a rapier. It was something she could do discreetly too, when the building pressure of the new mana made her want to tear her fingernails out. And best of all, she could do it from her desk. Or while she toured barracks or the new greenhouses that went up. Or while inspecting ships at dry dock. Or even at a state dinner. It was easiest, however, when she walked streets of the Port District, and down the jetty. There, if her control slipped, nothing would be damaged- no one harmed if she made a mistake. It would just bleed into the sea. It wouldn’t damage the district. 

_The one they called ‘mine’- Little_ _Theramore_. Jaina had been reluctant to accept that, chafed at the name- still did. _Why name it after my greatest failure?_ Its name alone however, was a grand motivator. Feeding excess mana in the azurite that anchored the wards there seemed like... _Catharsis? No, something more like penance_. At least she could use it to exorcise the anxiety that followed her magic like the rhythms of the tides. 

_Tides_. 

Jaina righted herself in the casement and set her book aside. She gathered the rather elaborate fur- _Sylvanas would insist something so fine-_ and buried her nose into it, chasing the lingering smell of her wife’s perfume. Jaina dug her bare toes into the plush carpet. She’d never liked socks. 

_Tides_. 

That is certainly one explanation. 

Jaina was almost sure now that she'd made a well of herself. She had dug deep, bored down to fight, to win... and something had rushed in to fill that space. She couldn’t leave the notion alone- a rotten tooth of an idea that her mind kept touching upon only to confirm that yes, it was there, and yes, it hurt. Jaina shifted again, as the pins and needles in the arches of her feet raced to her knees. It was always worse, when the tides were at their extremes, and today was no exception, for all tomorrow was the start of the feast days. 

Lor'themar's laughter floated to her, a rich baritone, “-- _Liadrin--- , this is sweet enough that even – Sylvanas –-- can taste it._ ” 

They were still gathered in the main room, near the warchief's grand desk, to discuss and confirm security and procedure. Jaina had given up hours ago- she'd already obsessed and managed the mages, readied and re-readied and drilled her Naval display, and prepared the docks for evenings of fireworks. She’d already delegated tasks, and checked the time tables for the week and portal schedules and anchors thrice over. _Hovering wouldn’t do any favors_. However, by the sound of it, the conversation had moved from matters of security, to the more light hearted aspects of the coming days; street foods. 

“ _That's the idea, yes Bright-eyed--- one_....” 

_“It’s meant to be 'Bright---praised one_ -” 

“ _Yes --As you are meant to have two eyes, and the sweets are meant to be sweet_.” 

“ _That’s low ---Liadrin-- blood-lion--, please, as if my tastes stray far from -----..._ ” 

Jaina smiled at the banter, then frowned. ' _Blood-lion'_? Jaina was a good scholar, an excellent linguist... but that skill was academic. She had nothing close to the natural conversational fluency of elves. Jaina couldn't tell if it was dialectic or not – maybe _a racial penchant for word games? But no, Nathanos speaks just as they do_ . Thalassian etiquette had a thousand rules, and it seemed to Jaina, that the older the elves were or the longer they'd known each other, the less she could parse. _Their speed certainly doesn’t help._ Jaina had been told on more than one occasion her Thalassian was exceptional. She was beginning to think that the standards for non-native speakers must be rather low. 

Jaina tugged the fur tight around her shoulders, and exhaled against the rising head rush. She let her breath out, a calm eight count. _Just jitters and mana, and nothing more. Nerves_. Not an ill portent about the celebrations, just a side effect of her condition. She would take a walk, and that would be the end of it. 

Jaina made her way to the other room, kept considerably warmer than the inner chambers- _elves_ \- and did her best not to blatantly interrupt. A difficult task these days; Sylvanas had developed the habit of standing whenever Jaina entered, and offering Jaina her own chair. _Gallant and impractical._ Sylvanas was thankfully seated nearer the door, and Jaina set a hand on her shoulder before she could rise. 

It still made her heart flutter, to watch the way Sylvanas’s ears perked at her approach, the way she turned her face into Jaina’s hand. The way she brushed a kiss against her wrist. _Terribly intimate_ . Then again, elves weren’t prudish, and something as tame as a human courtly greeting wasn’t out of place. _Certainly not in company so long standing- and not in our own quarters_. So Jaina didn’t have an explanation for blush that rose along Liadrin’s collar, nor for why Anya glanced away indulgently, as Sylvanas greeted her and then repeated herself in common. 

“How are you this evening, Lady Wife?” 

Sylvanas took her hand, pulling Jaina alongside her armchair and peering up into her face. 

“I need to go to the beach.” Directness was better, and there wasn’t a use trying to couch her behavior. Especially when the pull of her mana was obvious enough the elves sat up straighter and shifted in their seats. Even Nathanos seemed to watch her with bright eyes. 

Sylvans hummed, cocking her head to the side in slow, sly appraisal. “This can be finished, if you wish to retire?” 

Anya snorted so loudly that Lor’themar’s bracer across her chest plate turned the sound into a hearty grunt. Jaina turned in time to see Liadrin rolling her eyes hard enough to strain herself. 

“I will join you after I walk the breaker.” 

Sylvanas considered this, “I’m otherwise engaged,” She gestured to the desk strewn with parchment and trays, “But will you suffer another companion?” She motioned to Anya, who was already shrugging away a whispered question from Nathanos, and standing to attention. 

_It was sweet of her to ask, instead of command it._ Jaina felt the corner of her mouth rising as she nodded, squeezing Sylvanas’s fingers, somehow tangled in her own. “If it pleases you.” 

“ _It does.”_ Sylvanas excused herself and accompanied her to the door, ostensibly to help and fuss over outerwear. “ _\--You-- generally do_.” 

Dressing was a short affair, and Sylvanas secured Jaina’s heavy hood, tying it beneath her chin. “I’ll have this rabble cleared out by the time you return.” 

Jaina smiled, “Evictions? Where’s your holiday spirit.” 

Sylvanas shrugged, drawing Jaina close to kiss her cheek, “ I’ve won it thrice over. This? This the just the strategic repositioning of goods.” 

_“--Goods—and Services--, Queenly mandates indeed.”_ Lor’themar interjected, leaning on the door frame brandishing a meat skewer with an air of false gravity, “Don't worry,” he said for Jaina’s benefit, “We’ll find our way to more welcoming hearths, by and by. Won’t we Liadrin?” 

Liadrin in her generally stoic fashion chose not to comment, but her blush hadn’t receded. Behind, Nathanos handed her the flagon of wine with something that passed for a smile. 

Jaina filed that bit of information away for future prying. 

They returned to their maps and ledgers, but Sylvanas lingered, holding Jaina’s chin in her fingers. Concern creased the corners of her eyes, her voice whisper soft, “Shall I wait for you?” 

Jaina felt herself melt, the urge to fall into her arms and be carried to bed...but she could not shake the knot of dread gathering in her stomach... _yes, yes I will have that, but first, a walk_. 

“If you would, I will not be long.” 

Sylvanas kissed her, and closed the door on her way out. 

Jaina felt unaccountably abandoned then, blinking on the landing. She wanted to go back inside, to wrap herself around Sylvanas and shed the layers of her hard-won control. Before Jaina could raise her hand to the latch again, Anya cleared her throat. She stood scuffing her boot with her arms crossed, doing her best to impersonate a stern guardian. She failed miserably. 

“Sorry you pulled guard duty?” The words came out sharper than Jaina wanted. She made a show of securing her gloves to buy a moment of repose. _Breathe. It's just nerves._ She wondered if Anya had caught the flair of magic on her wrists before she’d fastened the buttons over them. 

If she had, she didn’t let on. Anya pushed off the wall, walking abreast of Jaina down the stairs. She said over her shoulder, “No, only sorry I had to witness such pathos.” 

Jaina tisked, following a pace behind. 

She enjoyed Anya’s company most out of those in the ranger core. Conversations with Anya were always easy, as if they were friends with history. _Perhaps this is what having a sister is like. Teasing and comfort and protection._ Days that Anya had been on rotation for Jaina’s bed rest had been bearable. And days where Anya, Velonara and Lyana were slated together had been down right enjoyable, despite her confinement. _Mischievous, bright, cunning and kind._ Jaina was glad that Sylvanas had people like that at her back. Grateful she had been let into their circle. _It is more maybe, than I deserve_. 

“It can’t be that bad.” Jaina muttered, feeling more keenly the teasing aspect of sisterhood over comradery. 

Anya sighed dramatically. “Oh, but it is. Even by our standards. If you hadn’t proposed when you did, I’m sure the pining would have caused and international incident.” 

Jaina exhaled through her nose, “Is that why when Sylvanas makes a scene, other elves don't seem phased? They don’t want to risk incident?” 

Anya’s laugh was snatched up by a gust as they made it outside. “Well, they're probably terribly curious as to how you haven't managed to kill each other yet,” She cut her eyes across the courtyard, over the marigold garlands strung and dancing in the wind. “No, it's the way she addresses you, introduces you, that has their attention.” 

Jaina cocked her head. Rules of etiquette came back to her- evaded her grasp. Curiosity firmly won her attention, and some of her anxiety slipped away. 

“The way she introduces me?” 

Anya flashed her teeth, and scoffed, “Still can’t understand your own wife’s native tongue.” 

“I know,” Jaina said, hearing it for the joke it was, but unable to help herself, “-but the language is just- -and your suffixes? So fiddly- six layers of address, three of them formal- and prefixes? - There are more moods and cases than I care to name. It's a nightmare, Anya.” 

Jaina nodded to the guards, and they were out of the keep’s grounds, winding the shortest route to the Port District, and the breakers. 

Anya chuckled at Jaina’s consternation, even as she kept an eye on the rooftops. “It's worse than you know. We’re snobbish by birth and by tongue.” 

It was Jaina’s turn to scoff, “Tell me about it.” 

Anya relented, clasping her arms behind her and leaning slightly into the wind, “ Names are important. When you live so long, names get longer too. Complex.” 

They crossed up to one of the new ice bridges, an overpass across the druid's sprawling greenhouses, and the market squares stocked and standing ready. Forsaken banners fluttered off the blue-white ice of the handrail as they passed. The sound was surprisingly triumphant. 

“There are names for families,” Anya said, “Names that run through families, too. Names for friends, names friends could call you that no others could or should... Names even through omission. By speaking, you claim- or try to claim these relationships. That’s just as important as any prefix or suffix of formality.” 

Jaina nodded, trying to keep up and wishing she’d brought something to write it all down on. _How did I miss that?_ It seemed on obvious thing for race of people so proud and possessive, to have social relationships and status on such deliberate display. 

Anya glanced back at her, her expression genuine, “The grammar Sylvanas uses for you- the kinds of names- they’re dead. Buried. Resurrected from old poems. They should sound stuffy and stale but they don’t sound out of place in her mouth. It's terribly romantic, and powerfully threatening.” 

They walked on past the arched corridor leading outwards, and back towards the new tournament grounds and the massive magic dome erected over it. Watching it glitter brightly in the distance, Jaina bit her lip to stop herself from smiling too broadly. She was flattered, flustered, and still terribly curious. _A whole other language system embedded in syntax? No wonder Sylvanas had been inclined to write in cypher._ And she flushed to think what kind of things Sylvanas might have said about her- to her- in public. 

“Go on. About names?” Jaina tucked her hands in her pockets, to keep from fidgeting, “ So does... everyone have these names?” 

“Oh absolutely. But it's more ... hm- for example many druids take the names of animals that they identify with- many or only one, and using any epithet at any specific time tells us how that person is being seen and by whom.” 

“That's marvelous.” Then Jaina reconsidered, “Terribly confusing. But marvelous” 

“Not really” Anya replied brightly, the colored lanterns painting her pale features in prisms of orange and purple, “And our system is so much more structured and easier to follow than yours.” 

“Oh. Sure,” Jaina resisted the urge to poke Anya hard in the ribs, “if you have a few hundred years to master it.” 

“You will.” 

Anya said it so fiercely that Jaina did a double take, but Anya had turned away, ever watchful. A beat later she swept her hand up in a halt, and Jaina obeyed. She could just make out in the shadows the shape of a return signal. _All clear_ , and then Anya carried on again as if nothing had happened. It was sometimes easy for Jaina to forget that Anya was a warrior, a capable killer, and not just an affable chatterbox. 

“Lady, you misunderstand me,” Anya continued amiably, “for all your tongue is clumsy, it is modeled after ours. Take yourself, – People call you The Grand Admiral of the United Coalition Navy, or The Grand Admiral, or Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras, or sometimes simply The Admiral. Others still call you by Jaina, or only Proudmoore. Others call you Daughter of the Sea, Drake Slayer or Storm Breaker and Sea Caller. And yet you are still you. And each way they call you, is a claim to a different relationship.” 

Jaina gave that a few moments to settle. It was a lot to consider, but it did make the gaps in her understanding, more, well understandable. It was a web, a spoken web of relationships, social bonding and affirmation. _Social grooming, cats lounging in piles in the sun..._ The magnitude of what had been stripped away from the elven forsaken seemed cruel to weigh. She listened to the rhythmic crunch of their boots over the packed snow and picked her words as carefully as her steps. 

“What do you want me to call you... _Ranger Anya_?” 

“ _Ranger Anya_ is honestly very nice to hear.” Her brows drew together slightly in thought, “You could add a prefix or suffix for friend, depending on the level of formality ‘- _\--Ranger Anya---_ ‘, or ‘ _Sister’,_ provided you use the connotation of by marriage for specificity’s sake...” She trailed off a little wistfully, as if she was speaking only to herself, “My call sign was Shrike- but that was a long, long time ago, and most have forgotten such things.” 

Then, the outbuildings of Little Theramore gave way, and Jaina felt the full weight of the salt rush over her tongue. The comfort that came with it was astounding _.Staggering_. It made her realize just how kind, how perceptive Anya was, to distract and entertain her on the walk down. It made Jaina want to chase away her friend’s deepening frown. 

“I see. And what do you call me?” 

Anya’s ears snapped back up, and then fanned outward. A gymnastic feat that did little to hide embarrassment. “Naming is not always appropriately polite- the, ah, the way one names a person in private often tells you more about the person naming than the named....” 

Jaina reached out to pat her arm, “So you’re an insufferable gossip. You all have decades of private in-jokes, and some of them aren't flattering?” 

“No- well. Yes.” Anya brushed back a lock of pale hair that had escaped her hood, “Unflattering for us. But, we’re as superstitious as we are snobbish. It would be bad form to say aloud what's meant to be private.” 

“But you do.” 

“We do.” 

“I thought it was all about display,” Jaina said with a lift of her brow “Contrary and superstitious. Now you sound like my sailors...Maybe you should come with me, next I take _Legacy_ to roam.” 

“Shrike, not gull.” Anya lifted her chin in mock annoyance. "I don’t sail.” 

“I could ask my wife?” Jaina toyed, “As a personal request.” 

“You're ruthless.” Anya gasped, but she was grinning “It suits then, that when you were confined to quarters, we called you ' _brine-speaker' ,_ instead of _'sea singer_ '; salty, and bitter.” 

Jaina laughed. The crash of the waves, the grounding of an honest friend. It was what she had needed. It was easy to let the water take away the frenetic burn of anxiety. She almost wished she was barefoot on the stones to feel the water on her skin and over her scars. She whispered a soft, crooning prayer, something from childhood, and walked further along to where the waves pounded. 

Anya had been with Jaina on similar errands before, and she fell back, giving her room. Jaina admired that. Others might have crowded close- put themselves in danger. 

After a few breaths, a handful of heartbeats that syphoned the mana from her, into the surf, she asked, “ _Will your name be read tomorrow, Wife’s-sister Anya?”_

Anya chortled a delighted laugh, “That was a very good try, _‘Sister’s wife- Jaina!_ If overly formal. Did you learn from dead men?” 

“Yes.” Jaina snarked, “Libraries are useful like that.” 

She let more mana go, sending it along the shore, down into the seabed. _Less formal..._ “ _Will Ranger- Anya-watcher- and Queens'-guard’s’ name be sung?”_

“Better.” Anya said firmly, warmly, but maintained her distance, “Yes. Mine, my sisters’ and brothers’ too. And those of us who’ve passed. They would be proud of us, I think. I never was a glory hound before- but we’ve earned it. _Recognition._ But more, _a_ _home_.” 

Jaina nodded. “A rite, and a single festival isn’t enough – it doesn’t begin to make amends. But I it’s a start-” 

“Stop, I’ll blush.” Then with mounting mischief, “It does pave the way for more celebrations though. This calm spell we’ve had- what we’ve accomplished together... Perhaps, a public ceremony for a certain pair who’ve cemented the peace?” She made an aggrieved sound. “Talk about recognition. Such self-sacrifice.” 

“Anya.” 

“I don’t know how I’d bear it.” 

“Anya.” 

“What happened to all those nice names?” 

_“Anaya-sister-pest_ -” 

“--Just wait for that ceremony. Imagine it. Two bridal parties, and with such high-profile guests, decorated war heroes, the City’s personal Rangers- well. We’re going to be advertised as so fantastically single by that point that Sylvanas is going to have to declare a national holiday because.....” 

Jaina smiled, only half -listening- but then her smile dropped. She wasn’t half listening _-_ She couldn’t hear _._ She turned sharply, could see Anya’s lips moving, but her voice blurred into a low buzzing hum. All that was left was the beat of water on rock. Her own heart. And then that was muffled too. 

_It's just the magic. I let it build too much. I wasn’t careful. I released too much too fast._

_It's Just nerves. Just the pressure of display and performance._ The water seemed to hiss, to boil and then 

And then Jaina _was_ the water- **no** -something in the water, deep and dark and looking up at her- _at myself?_ \- from fathoms below, terrible and bright; distant as star. A nightmare of alien thought; speech as broken pictures she couldn’t describe or understand slammed against her. Stars and fire and unbearable, unyielding hunger. 

**_\-- We seek-_ **

**No**. 

Jaina pulled back, hard. The kind of withdrawal that left a crater, that burned. 

Anya was still speaking, only a breath had passed, but Jaina’s fingers were curled so tightly into her palms that it hurt. 

_Was that real?_

_Am I ill?_

Anya’s eyes narrowed, at Jaina’s side in an instant, weapons half drawn. Her lip raised slightly, a feline searching for a scent. “What is it?” 

“Nothing.” _It was nothing, wasn’t it?_

Anya frowned, “It didn’t look like nothing.” She stared accusatorily at the inky line of horizon, “Is there danger? You must tell me, Lady.” 

Jaina closed her eyes. “No-”- _Because there couldn’t be_ , - “- No. The wards would have tripped. This place is rigged tighter than a goblin’s vault. You would know.” 

Anya regarded her with cold appraisal, a look of calculation that was so like Sylvanas’s Jaina almost bent under it. Then it fled, softening as she offered Jaina her arm. 

“As you will, _Jaina-sister's wife._ To be sure though, I’ll change the rosters for tomorrow. I’ll stand with you for the Naval Presentation instead of Lyana.” 

“I thought you weren’t a gull?” Jaina forced her voice even, her eyes lingering on the reflection of the moon on the churning water. 

Anya kept her other hand firm on her side arm, even as she beckoned Jaina towards her, “A gull I am not, but perhaps an osprey?” 

Jaina let Anaya tuck her hand in the crook of her elbow. She finally looked away. “I wouldn’t want to rob Lyana of the chance to make eyes at all the fine sailors.” 

“All the more reason to switch- if I'm so deserving, don’t I deserve a change of scenery too?” 

“If it's meant to be a punishment, why don’t I suffer the pair of you?” 

Anya patted her hand, “Lovely, what a splendid idea.” 

Sylvanas was waiting for her, reading in the seat Jaina had left behind. With a book on her lap, the scent of wood smoke, and the lithe lines of her body wrapped in furs, it combined for a disarming effect. She looked relaxed, dressed down to soft leather, and white tunic. At ease. _Content. Warm._ Her eyes flicked up to Jaina’s, and she patted the space next to her in invitation. 

“Feeling better?” 

Jaina nodded, taking the place offered. Then shook her head. “I...” 

_I think I’m going crazy?_ No. That wouldn’t do _._

Sylvanas’s ears pressed back in sympathy, “It’s worse, with the tides, isn’t it?” 

“Yes.” It was an easy out, and Jaina would have been ashamed of it, if Sylvanas hadn’t been staring at her mouth. 

Sylvanas flicked her eyes back up, her voice deliciously husky, “I’m willing to help you with that.” 

_I should tell you how bad it really is._

But she couldn’t. Not when Sylvanas was looking at her like that. Like she’d personally hung the harvest moon, not after learning how she spoke about her. And Jaina did feel better, like this. She swung her leg over, sat astride Sylvanas’s lap instead. How could she stop herself? Sylvanas was solid, a bedrock beneath her. She seemed a pillar, a constant, - a fixed star and Jaina couldn’t help the way she responded to her gravity. Sylvanas’s eyes darkened as Jaina leaned over her, hands planted above her shoulders, sliding on the windowpane. Jaina leaned down, ready for a kiss, eyes already fluttering closed. 

Smooth hide bumped her nose. 

_The book_ . Jaina refocused on the spine. _A cookbook?_ The corners of Sylvanas’s eyes were tilted up, her smirk hidden behind the open volume. 

“Hungry?” 

Jaina chuckled, and darted over the book to kiss Sylvanas on the nose. She scrunched up feigning scorn, but leaned into do the same to Jaina. Sylvanas spoke, gesturing vaguely with the book. 

“I thought we could try it. In the spire. You like me, I like giving you things. Cooking would be an efficient way to-” 

Jaina kissed her again, slow and sweeter than the rosewater syrup recipe pressed between them. 

“Domestic.” Jaina sighed. 

“Very.” Sylvanas agreed, “But would you like that- we could do it together? In the spire, and our needs would be met and-” 

Jaina kissed her again. “Sylvanas. You want me fat and lazy.” 

Sylvanas purred against her jaw, “That's a strange way to frame ‘taken care of and satisfied by my hand’.” 

Jaina shifted her weight, and Sylvanas forgot about the book. 

~*~ 

Jaina had taken to wearing her admiral’s uniform, or variations of it, as her daily wear. It was warmer, more practical, and lent an air of authority that she felt suited her. _But this_... She had to admit that it was lovely, for all her preference for less dramatic tokens of affection. 

It was still a piece that projected command. Gold piping and epaulets, the right naval signs- but the heavy coat wasn’t loose like the Lord Admiral’s one; it was fitted, tailored to her shoulders and flaring from the waist. _A proper dress uniform’s cut._ Jaina could not remember owning one before. The thick dress beneath it was as warm as it was regal. A dark green-gray heather – and winding up the bodice and down the side of the skirt was the red sea drake. The flash of it coiling among the pleating and wrapped around her waist, a fine contrast against the white blouse and the blues and greens of the coat. Gods help her, she adored it. Jaina couldn’t believe she had missed something as frivolous as skirts. But she had. And Sylvanas had noticed. 

Mayweather fussed with Jaina’s cravat for the third time, and Jaina gently pushed aside their hands. "You're my secretary, Mayweather.” 

“Midshipmen. Secretary. Valet.” Mayweather admonished, but obliged, clasping their hands behind their back, “All the same to me Admiral.” 

Jaina glanced over them, proud in their dress clothes, once again at a near perfect parade rest. The gentle roll of _Proudmore; Legacy,_ at pride of place in port did nothing to their stance despite time behind a desk. So Jaina had to ask, 

“You’ve refused promotion. Again?” 

Mayweather nodded; jaw set with determination. 

_To do what, to play my servant?_ Jaina frowned. The kind of loyalty Mayweather displayed was genuine, rare, and Jaina was not eager to mishandle that gift. A half-elf, young, previously homeless- halfway in-between so many worlds. _If they think their place is with me, I could do worse that reward that choice._ And it payed to give credit where it was due. Mayweather was gifted with charts and management, had a head for figures and an innate obstinance that made them perfect for fielding the Admirals desk. Jaina had seen few other capable administrators, and she had come to rely on Mayweather’s sharp eye and unflappable demeanor. _I’ve even trusted them to delegate, surf save me_. 

“Very well.” Jaina considered, “But you should know, the office you have is generally held by a formally commissioned officer- at least a junior lieutenant...” 

Mayweather’s throat bobbed a moment, looking smaller and uncertain in their sharply creased uniform. Jaina pulled a ribbon out of her pocket, and tested the pin against her gloved finger. 

“Nothing has to change, except your pay I suppose,” Jaina stepped forward to fasten the new rank in its proper place, “I’d hoped to do this months before, but what's one more promotion on parade day, eh?” 

Mayweather blinked hard, and rested their hand on her wrist, “I-.” 

A knock sounded on the door, and the morning light sliced through the cabin. Lyana and Anya slipped inside with it. 

“ _\---Ah, Drake Slayer!”_ Anya closed the door quickly, looking Jaina up and down, “ _\--Lyana-- --, I told you this would be better. You'd have had ---Sylvanas-- present her silks._ ” 

“ _And she’d have looked ravishing in silks-_ ” 

“ _And would have frozen to death-_ ” 

“ _\---she----’s a frost, mage and_ -” 

“ _a mortal human. Besides-_ ” Anya waved Lyana’s huff away, and then stopped short, reading the room. 

Lyana inclined her head cutting off whatever else Anya was going to say in her accented common, “Apologies, Midshipman Mayweather-” 

“Junior Lieutenant _._ ” Mayweather said softly, touching the badge self-consciously. 

“Congratulations,” Anya said brightly, “You can finally pull rank on the trash that washes up in your offices.” 

_“They’ve managed fine with you so far._ ” Lyana commented dryly, bowing formally to Jaina, “Word from the Warchief, the Triumph may begin.” 

It was a formality, a scripted one, and Jaina nodded briskly, touching the saber at her side, “Onward then, let us not keep Our Lady waiting.” 

When Mayweather did not move to follow, Jaina glanced back, “Lieutenant?” 

“Wha-oh,” they jerked forward, “Of course. Yes Admiral.” 

They stepped to the deck. 

The air smelled fresh, and clean; lacquer and wood varnish, wax and salt. _Boot polish and pomade_. 

“The time, Lieutenant Mayweather?” 

“Quarter past fourth watch, Admiral.” 

“Excellent.” 

Jaina did not like being late. 

The line of sailors that saluted for her inspection were smart. Sharp and bright in the cold sunlight. Bursting with pride. They assumed their places with appropriate stoicism despite the celebratory air. _Legacy’_ s officers, having the distinction of being flag ship sailors, would follow behind Jaina directly. But they, all her sailors, were kitted out in their finest. They fell in with her perfectly as they filed down on to the docks. They would make their way, pass each ship and meet each vessel’s officers too as they presented Jaina the ships. Then, all would join the formation as it wound up from the harbor, up the slight rise of the bluff, and to the parade square beyond. There, in the lee of the new harbor fortress, the rest of the crews and crowds waited. There would be a slew of short speeches, reading the names of the few fallen sailors in the past year, and rank promotions. _Pipes, brass and flutes._ Then, they’d use the new portal corridors Jaina had helped erect, to meet the main event on the tournament grounds outside the walls. 

Jaina didn’t stop the way her mouth lifted, thinking of it. _We’ve earned this. They’ve earned this._ That they’d chosen this holiday wasn’t a coincidence, and Jaina had been sure to advertise it deliberately. The mixed races in the crowd, some faces already masked with paint as she passed were thunderous validation. Sylvanas did it. _Her people have a home- they are not alone. Embraced._ Jaina had been sure to send open invitations to all cities. _If you wish to attend, you are welcome._ She hoped other factions' leaders would come the following days, in official capacity, or otherwise. 

It truly had been a massive effort, to get to where they were today. The grinding work of technicality and paper pushing, to fight past vicious resource hoarding. _Patient cross denominational conversation_. Finally allowing druids access to ‘more than their fair share’ to start honest to gods food production; then everything had seemed to get better, for all the world was still snow and ice. Old grudges gave way when the choice was to trust or starve, and Jaina was glad to have been part of that. _Finally._ _That, And the move from bare survival_ . The revival of the crafts and mercantile classes. S _omething for people to live for_. Jaina lifted her chin to the sun, and let her ears fill with the snare drum, the lilting flutes and the sound of happy crowds. The street was hung with bright homemade banners, and the lamp posts had been wrapped in chains of autumn flowers. Black-eyed Susan's and vivid Aster. 

Unaccountably, Jaina flinched; Her shoulder aching dully, in a way it hadn’t in months. Beside her, Anya stiffened, but Jaina brushed the concern away. _It's just an injury’s reaction to the cold._ She would be better when she arrived at the arena stands. 

Jaina didn’t bother stopping her smile now. Yes, Jaina would meet Sylvanas at noon, on the tourney grounds and watch the terribly proud Ranger Lord, and Ranger Captain open the Festival tournament. Jaina would sit beside Sylvanas- _she'll be preening- dressed like a queen, and we’ll watch the children’s games_ ; The youths would have their share first, a mock parade, contests and drills to show off for their friends and family. Later on, there would be jousting, and sword play, and archery and all manner of feats to be showcased in the following days. However, what Jaina looked forward to most today, was to the presentation of honors and awards for the Children's Corps; The war orphans and wards of the state, who’d requested to ‘apprentice’ with the Rangers. _Scraggly, hard-assed Nathanos, and his rangy brood of recruits._ She knew the young ones sometimes slipped, and called him father- and he never corrected them. 

Jaina came to the last ship on the dock, and turned up towards the fine stretch of wall where the marine spellbreaker detachment waited. After Lady Liadrin had firmly advised Sylvanas that spellbreakers make a portion of Jaina’s Naval Marines, Jaina had known exactly who to head such a group. It was the only reason the woman wasn’t by her side now. 

Brisyn stood out, golden in her decorated crimson uniform. Her allegiance to The Grand Admiral was blatant. The bright strip of her arm band, and the stripe of white and blue chasing the sun on her burnished shield; the red snake motif. Brisyn saluted, just as the bells in the distance chimed 10. _Perfectly on schedule._

_“---Grand Admiral--”_ Brisyn greeted her with a salute, more of a pledge than anything else. “Today is a fine day.” 

To her surprise, Brisyn’s eyes lingered on Ayna, _“And well met too, --- --- --Honored Ranger.”_

Jaina wished she’d caught what she said, because Anya’s ears shot straight up, though she only inclined her head acknowledgment. 

_“_ I offer my marines for inspection _,”_ Brisyn addressed Jaina once more, _“_ We are at your disposal.” 

They made a fine sight, on the raised road below the great wall of the fortress and battery. The khol lining their eyes as dark as the cannons glinting above, white flowers on their breasts as glossy as their parade swords. As Jaina stepped forward, they cracked to attention and Brisyn’s face filled with pride, still chasing Anya’s acknowledgment. 

A shiver raced up Jaina’s spine, pursued by a throbbing dread that licked up her neck. Despite herself, she gave into the impulse to pivot back. She turned away, away from her soldiers, and back to the harbor. Something.... _Touched_ her. Her eyes locked on the mainmast of _Legacy_ , riding higher than it ought to... and the pennants... _flying against the wind?_ As she watched, the masts seem to inch higher, wooden fingers scrambling up into the sky. 

_The water is rising._

Those that were with her that day felt it too, and instinctively looked to her. Selfishly, Jaina reflected, that they all must have been marked by that storm. By the storm yes, and to a degree, her magics too, calibrated and connected to her and the wards she’d saturated on their ship, and in their district. Either way, while others grew restless at her unexpected behavior, _Legacy’s Own_ stood, waiting for her command. 

Jaina held up her hand, a moment to hold, for her to think and breathe- _There-_

**- _We seek_ \-- **

_I didn’t imagine it._

A whispered threat, the first prickling of force along defenses, trickling like oil against her ear. A distant rush of wind. As they watched the tide began to go out. And kept going out. The ships groaned, timber protesting as their weight settled into the silt of the harbor. 

_Harbor Wave._

Jaina didn’t wait. 

“Lyana, to the Warchief, report. Now.” 

She was gone, an arrow from a bow. 

Overhead, the sky darkened; a painter rubbing turpentine down a canvas. The honeyed lights of day separated into a curdling dish of milky greys. Jaina gave her commands, relayed and repeated by Anya, and Brisyn; orders to evacuate the dock area and to seek higher ground. Jaina kept her own position near the bottom of the rise, encouraging others to make their way up. Her parade seemed like a garish display now, an overdressed response to an unseen threat. 

They were moving too slowly. People seemed paralyzed, stopping to gawk at the seabed lain bare. Marine animals flailed hopelessly near the keels of her ships, drowning in the air. 

Jaina snapped commands again, in common, in Thalassian, in Orcish, in gutter speech even, when the stunned people didn’t move further on up the hill. She shouted back to a powder boy who’d hailed her from a cannon port, leaning down from high above seeking orders. She gave them; The cannons should be rolled on their tracks, reloaded and prepared with live ammunition as fast as possible. Giving them something to do, some solid action would provide structure _. And it wouldn’t hurt...Just in case it wasn’t_ just _a wave._

The words were hardly out of her mouth before the air shattered. A soundless, sonic hiss that had everyone groping blindly for their ears. The earth beneath her shrugged, and Jaina’s earring burned hot before - 

Before the gate wards gave out. _Snuffed_ . She felt the azurite anchor stone crumble like a broken tooth in her mouth. _The dome-? The Grand Gate? Was that the dome coming down- the defenses or the whole arena_? Jaina wouldn’t have been able to see it, but she turned anyway-- 

\- _Focus._ She could only do one thing at a time. 

If it was a harbor wave then her wards would hold. It was what they were there for after all, for storm, and sea and cannon fire. Jaina spun. She could discern the rise of the wave, a gathering swell far in the distance. Coming, and with such speed. Someone in the crowd, in the press of people around her started to wail, a hue taken up and echoed. They started to push, to shove. A riot now would have them trampled under each other's feet before the water had its satisfaction. _I don’t think so._

Jaina amplified herself. She made her tone match her Father’s when he’d sailed that last time. She wove an inversion into her spell too, an overcharge of arcane intellect- _no excuse for misunderstanding._

“ENOUGH.” Every one stilled, riveted by her sudden force, “Calm yourselves. My wards will hold. Walk. File up the hill. Calmly. Now.” 

_Blessed be_ \- they listened. _One less problem._

But her voice alone wouldn’t stop the wave. It climbed up, up over the harbor mouth; reaching a terrible height, blocking out the sky. 

She breathed easy despite the panic of those around her. She’d never truly feared the water. She fanned the fingers of her casting hand, as if she were gathering spider silk. Fisting the thin tethers of mana she made to the wards nightly, she gave one, solid push. _Just to be sure._ Just because she didn’t fear, didn’t mean she wanted to be cocksure. 

For a minute the crest seemed to hang motionless. Then, it met the wards all at once in a shower of blue-violet sparks. And it split. Without a sound, or a fuss, it fell back. 

Just below at the docks, the ships were a mess of shrieking timbers, knocking into each other in the slow trickle of sea sluicing back into place. 

Jaina couldn’t stop the self-satisfied grin, more of grimace. _Just a wave- it_ could have been caused by a landslide mile away, or an earthquake at sea. _That’s it. That’s all- there's nothing more. We are safe here, and I will go to grounds next._

With the wave gone, came a flood of concerns; _Are we at war? What could break down the dome- was it really broken? My friends are they- my Wife? Light, Sylvanas._

On second thought, _no_. She shut her mind from that. There would be only tasks. A series of steps to get there. An objective to reach, and she would pursue it. 

She took stock, and found that yes, she was being obeyed. There were the parade goers, still filing neatly up to the fort, her sailors and soldiers regrouping. A gradual return to regimented order and- 

one sailor, still on his ship, pointed down over the railing, white faced and shivering. Shouting. Frantic- 

_No._

-“There was something in the water!” 

It was as if every sailor committed to the sea was being vomited up onto the shore. Gleaming bone, half-eaten, decayed. Everyone stood frozen once more, mouths agape, a cruel imitation of the joyful ice sculptures and carvings studding the causeway. 

"Noncombatants away!" 

When no one moved, Jaina commanded again, a snarl as she rolled up her sleeves, "Mayweather, take them.” She tore off her signet ring, shoving it into their hands, “ With my Chamberlain! Civilians to the keep! Go!" 

_Delegation indeed_. She gave Mayweather one last meaningful look before she slid into battle. _I hope they don’t hate me for that._

The formations she practiced and drilled on decks would have to do for dry land. She barked out her orders once more, and could see her officers doing their jobs, doing as they’d been trained. _Think of it as a boarding action my sailors. Be brave my lads._

“ _Ranger Anya, let us_ -” 

Like a lance, like the kiss of a whip, thought slapped up against her mind. 

**_\--Loss-hunger-pain-fury-fear-death-_ **

Jaina lurched to a stop mid stride, Anya helpless beside her. She cursed her own spell work, how thorough it was, because something was backdooring her. Using her own intellect spell. Opening her up. Sliding through her protections, and there was little she could do but gasp. A waterfall of thoughts against her own and it was a battle of will _not_ to understand, not to be swept away. _A counter spell I need--_ but she had to breathe first. 

" _Brisyn- My Champion, to me_." 

As soon as Brisyn’s steady hand connected with her back, Jaina straightened.“ _Keep me covered as best you can Storm-Shield.”_

Brisyn gave her determined smile, “ _As I said, today is a fine day_.” 

“ _You would say so,_ ” Anya drew her bow, taking deadly aim, “ _If a hair is missing from sister-seasinger's braid, I’ll never speak to you again.”_

Brisyn shifted her grip on her parade weapon, her fingers already glowing with the lavender of a silencing spell, _“ Today_ is _a fine day, and, if my-Lord Drake Slayer permits, I will send you-oh-death-from-above, bushels of strawberries and we will watch the wickerman burn side by side.”_

“ _Flattery_ ?” Anya made a disgruntled sound of annoyance and pleasure. _“Now?”_

Jaina was almost as surprised to have understood the exchange as to realize she’d been speaking Thalassian too- _Right. Focus, regroup._ She took the moment of reprieve. The intrusion had recoiled, fleeing from the resistance, but she knew it would be back. Her token started to burn again, a thrumming internal fullness, like swimmer's ear. Above them, the storm clouds rushed against the wind as if pulled in spirals toward some great drain. There was another front too, rolling toward the city from inland. The familiar greasy slick of purple and faint green; a mana storm arcing in the distance. _Why had there been no warning?_

**_-can't hold them- hungry-loss-mana- where?-- You --_ **

Slow, patient claws of thought raked up against her once more. Jaina threw it out again, made herself an iron wall against it, bristling with pikes. Brisyn and Anya’s protection gave her the space to analyze it with the distance of an academic. _What can this be-an elemental? Maybe- but, too powerful; How best to engage? Is it close?_ She breathed, decided. _Yes close, but where? Do I need to see it to kill it- must I kill it to win?_ She considered too, the problem of what was coming out of the waves. _Drawn in by the storm no doubt. The rangers know how to deal with these fights, they’ve been through them. Anya can advise me, and If I can get words to Sylvanas-_

_Lyana, I sent Lyana. Did she make it before the dome went down-?_

Jaina gasped- she felt scraped hollow, a twin to the carved pumpkins smashed in the street. Her chest was blazing now, throbbing harmony to her token, a burning sensation between her breasts where her own gift would rest on Sylvanas’s chest. _Sylvanas._ She itched to join her, to seek her out.Lyana hadn’t returned, but Jaina could not leave her city, her people _. My city?_ She caught herself- _this is_ _Orgrimmar_. _It's_ not _the same, it’s not the same._ She could leave, go to Sylvanas herself. _It’s_ not _Theramore-_

But it _was._ And she couldn’t leave them, not yet. She couldn’t, but- 

_“_ Anya, _”_ Jaina grabbed her shoulder, causing her shot to go wide, “Go, go to the grounds. You know something has happened. The brunt of the storm is there, this- this is just a ripple, a reaction. _”_

When had it started to rain? She blinked drops away as Anya knocked another arrow. 

Jaina saw then just how far back her lines had been pushed while she had wrestled in her mind. A few paces away, Brisyn was shouting commands and encouragement like a field general as a never-ending horde of things slunk up out of the muck. 

_At least we have the high ground._

At last Anya answered her haltingly _. “I promised Queen-commander-sister, that I’d keep her cherished one-my-friend, safe.”_

A beast charged its way toward them, and Jaina drew her sword. She fought elbow to elbow with Anya and carved away at the molted waterlogged shapes in front of them. Then Brisyn’s heavy shield came down between them and the threat. Formations sprang up around them. 

"Go!” Jaina urged again, but Anya was resolute. 

“ _This one gave her word.”_

Another thrum of sympathetic pain nearly had Jaina dropping her sword. _Names, relationships_ . She sunk herself in the way she was understanding language now, the way she could speak it, the power that came with names. Familial, and informal and in the most commanding way she could, “ _Shrike-of-Mine, true to my wife. Fly!_ ” 

Anya cursed, kissed Jaina’s brow, and disappeared. 

Jaina thought that it was a good thing she had managed to sound so sure, because she was on hands and knees the next instant. _I wouldn’t have been half as convincing like this_ . The voice of that thing, that deep one, shook through her. She knew she should stand, should start putting her training and carefully reworked endurance to the test... but all she could focus on were the Hollows End lanterns reflected in the sheen of water and gore on the paving stone. Jaina bit her lip, and spat into it. _Not today. Today_ is _a fine day._

She jumped. 

Inky blackness. Reds and violets and the deep cold of the ancient dark. 

**_Storm, light on the shore- so hungry. Dangerous- alone. Promise. Wanting. Died- murdered- accident. Corruption! Hungry. Want it-seek---_ **

Jaina sighed. Letting it take her, she measured herself out like a sounding line. The din of combat a distant thing. 

_**Hungry. Teeth-all hungry and can't keep alone, can't keep safe- we seek—** **You**_ **.**

It coiled around her, as if it had known her shape. More pictures came, flashes of meaning. _A storm churned sea. Magic as poison, a brother who glutted and died but wouldn’t stay dead. Bones broken open and sucked dry_. A pull, a tether a lead- _animal with nose bag, whips and force and enslavement- a warlock- the burning legions_ \- And then Jaina started. She saw herself through its eyes, abstracted, a galaxy burning against the night sky- **_lightning rod- a feast- relief- death-promise-release--_ **

_**\--respond--** _

It tightened, a reflex. And instead of fighting, or answering, she ignored it. 

_**Rage-anger-desperate-answer-deep and alone and dead company- answer- we seek-**_

It pressed in once more, and hard. 

She went limp. It recoiled, alarmed, and then, like an eel she wriggled free. 

In its outrage and desperation, it tried once more to snare her. She swatted it back. _A needle and an eye, a hook caught through the bright capillaries of a gill, harpoons_. It screamed, and though she felt guilt, Jaina doubled down and pinned it into place- at the far end of the harbor. 

_So, it's there._

It would stay there, until she was ready to deal with it. 

Breathing hard, she shot up as Brisyn fisted a gauntlet in her coat and shoved her back. 

_“---Anytime now Sea-Sleeper-_ ” She grunted under the weight of the dead battering her shield _, “On your feet, please, my-Admiral.”_

The plea brought Jaina to her senses. She saw men trying to retake ships as things swarmed over them. She sheathed her sword, and reached into the void for her staff. Its weight was seductive, a promise of a power she’d be carefully rationing herself. 

“Fall from the ships! Barricades at Highchurch and Martial ave, and Sweet-Water Well square,” Jaina listed strategic defense points in her district that would protect homes and prevent inroads into the city proper. “Mages relay requests to the forward barracks. Fall back!” 

They scrambled to heed. She wasn’t finished, “ _Legacy’s Own, cover the retreat.”_

The timber of the ships, the docks, it wasn’t worth their lives. _Foolish._ Brisyn shouted for formations, the one’s they’d drilled. Units of sword, board, spell and spear. And then as carefully as Jaina could, she began to lay down cover fire. She knew her figure on the battlefield would encourage her people. She was cautious, even as the rush and elation of magic use bubbled as a laugh in her throat. 

Jaina and Brisyn fought down the slope together, relieving units, giving time to pull away to safety. _Easy. It's too easy. Why?_

She frowned – _not a retreat, a separation- a culling_. 

“ _Legacy’s_ \- fall back! Now!” 

The dense clusters of defenders thinned, and were not pursued. Jaina’s frown deepened with her certainty. _They’re focusing the casters_. It came down to mana. 

Irrational anger had her growling, lips pulled back. _You want a mage- come, get one._

Cutting a swath through the front line of wretches, she set the murky water to boil; She stalked the dead like a lioness. Her people made their retreat and she backed away, satisfied- _but too late_ . She’d been distracted- bent on destruction. Jaina saw that she’d been steered aside by the sheer mass of their foes- _I'm facing the wrong direction._ She was at the edge of the dock, and now down onto the flat of exposed wet sand. She was at angle with the breakers - and her own retreating forces. She swore under her breath. _If I fight, I'll slaughter my own men._ She wasn’t ready to consider the magnitude of that guilt- of having to make that call. Lightning flashed in the distance and the earth shook. It reminded her of something- 

Beside her, Brisyn cursed, “ _Blore-_ ” 

A hand shot up from the sand, wrapping around Brisyn’s ankle and Jaina struck at with her staff. _What?_ The sand around them shuddered. Bubbled with bodies. Old, half rotten and glowing faintly with the rancid purples and green of the storm. They stared, mouths unhinged, leaking many legged red worms. 

She fought. 

Jaina swung her staff in a circle, considering the benefits of drawing her sword again, but she wasn’t sure she had the time. _Maybe not casting will send them off- But off where, in pursuit of my people?_ That wouldn’t do _. I could set the ships alight? A distraction, a bait of mana to lure them-_ but no _._ There were likely still people aboard, and she couldn’t consign them to death. She glanced up through the falling rain, at the rocky shore, the seawall, and the fort above _. If I can blink us up there, out of range of the cannons, my gunners will give them hell._ From there, Jaina could sling spells with impunity, and stop any progress into her city. Mind made up, she wiped the rain from her eyes, and risked a localized frost spell, a root to gain time. 

“Friend, we’re going to blink _-_ ” Jaina’s words failed. _Oh_. 

Brisyn was on her knees, a pace away, braced against her planted shield. Something long lodged in her lower back- barnacle crusted and glistening. 

“ _Champion?_ ” Jaina’s voice rose with her alarm. The frost escaped her control, fanning out wider to glass new attackers and arrest their progress. Drawing more attention. 

“ _Champion, you will stand_.” 

“ _My Lady Sea,”_ Briysn groaned, a low painful sound. _“I don’t think I can._ ” 

That Brisyn could fall- No, she was a tower- a fortress. Dependable. _And I let a dead thing stab her in the back. In the_ back. 

“ _Think again shield-wall, on your feet._ ” 

The undead were beginning to break through her hastily cast ice, and Jaina felt her control snapping with it. It was dark, and she couldn’t see, save for the glitter of mana off of the glaze of ice and rain. She knew that if she killed this swarm, more would come, called by her skill. But what was she supposed to do? Leave Brisyn to her fate? Even as she thought it, the glow of more empty eyes turned to her. A steady, shambling march of indiscriminate hunger. 

Jaina crouched down, slinging Brisyn’s arm over her shoulders, “ _You’ll stand for me, Bright-unbroken-one, won’t you?_ ” 

Brisyn tried. Her feet slid, sinking deep into the wet sand. She moaned, holding herself against the strap of her shield like a crutch. She looked up through her wet bangs, and smiled. Bloody teeth, “ _It has been an honor to serve you,_ ” She wheezed slightly, coughing hot blood onto Jaina’s cheek. 

Jaina dug her fingers into Brisyn’s arm, banishing her staff to pull more of her spellbreaker’s weight across her back _. Light,_ she was heavy, even in parade armor. 

“ _I swear to the Tides_ ,” Jaina grunted, keeping an eye on the approaching mass, horror rising in her chest, “ _I swear, Brisyn-loyal-trusted friend-- I'll tan your hide and wear you as cape if you don’t-_ ” Jaina felt the moment Brisyn went slack, no longer trying to brace against Jaina’s smaller frame- “No _. Don’t you_ **dare**.” 

“ _Go, Jaina. May the sun warm your way_.” 

Jaina wailed. _More friends and more ruined cities._ She was unwilling to leave her here- unwilling to bury another friend. 

“Get up- _fuck_ the sun.” She clung to Brisyn’s arm, sobbed into it as the crackling of ice and the slap of trudging feet swelled like a chorus, “ You can do it. You can walk.” 

Jaina wasn’t a healer. She could feel Brisyn dying in her arms, and it was too much. _Too much Kinndy, too much Pained, too much Rohnin_ . Would Anya come to resent her, as Vereesa had? It was Theramore after all... No, Jaina wasn’t a healer, but she tried. Nothing happened. She yelled, defiant, and wordless. She struggled one step, dragging Brisyn across the sand. The weapon dislodged, and Jaina felt the warmth of blood wash over her own flank. Jaina could smell them over the copper in her nose, feted and briny and – _No, no, no._ Jaina’s grip was failing, her soldier was too heavy. She tried again, less artfully. _Please_ . Still nothing. But she didn’t stop. Jaina poured mana into Brisyn like she was an empty cup. She knew the woman was a spellbreaker, resistant, trained to stop exactly what Jaina was trying to do- but Jaina couldn’t _not_ chase hope. A choking gasp, and then steam was rising from Brysin’s stained armor, the raindrops sizzling on her shield, brought to bear in time against the dead grasping for them both. 

Jaina didn’t wait, didn’t question or pray. She risked it- blinked them once, twice, up to the breakers. 

Brisyn trembled, clutching at Jaina as they staggered drunkenly, “ _I- I'm sorry_ -” 

“No. I’m sorry- Brisyn, I- should I-” Jaina felt the brush of an ear against her cheek as Brisyn tried to stand straight, and winced. 

“ _Your braid’s come undone,_ ” She tried to edge forward, and eagerly Jaina helped support her. “... _Someone will be rather cross with me._ ” 

Jaina coughed- almost a laugh, nerves riding high. “I can’t make a blind portal to the fort- I'll split someone in half like that. We’re-” she swallowed, “We’re going to have to climb.” 

Brisyn nodded, as if almost dying— _had she died- did I raise her? -_ and then being told to scale a cliff face was an acceptable, everyday circumstance. “ _I may require some assistance.”_

_“Anything.”_

They started the climb. Arduous, slow. Painful. Jaina managed once to blink them up a rough section-but the focus minutia demanded of her- she couldn’t maintain it, not while supporting Brisyn bodily. The rocks were slick, and it took all of Jaina’s will to ensure that she wouldn’t fall and drag them both to their death. Brisyn’s shield snagged on an outcrop and they both swayed against the sudden blow. With a curse, her soldier unfastened it. They turned to watch it fall, and then cursed for an entirely different reason. 

_“Fuck,”_ Briysn whistled, _“So many.”_

A bobbing garden of twinned lights, glowing green and violet. Eyes staring up at them like a gallery of carrion birds waiting for them to fall. Patient. Quiet in the rain and waves. _Why are they so quiet?_ Would they be content to wait? 

_“Faster now, you owe ‘Someone’ strawberries. Climb_ . _”_

_“Is that your blessing?”_

_“_ You _are a blessing. Climb.”_

Jaina tried to focus on her fingers, feeling out hand holds in the gloom. The rain fell harder, the rocks running red with their rich iron ore. She tried to match her breathing to sound of the surf to stop herself from hyperventilating. It was hard to find peace in it, when it felt like the sea had betrayed her. The cannons however, she did find comforting. Holding like a dream, the sound of each volley, well-paced to her ears. Jaina slipped suddenly, inexplicably, hitting her chin on stone, and Brisyn fell heavily on top of her. 

_But I didn’t_ slip. She swallowed her scream. With and effort, Jaina shoved Brisyn back up. _Something’s touching me. Something has my ankle_. She kicked, connected with a sickening wetness. She heard the thing tumble, clattering against the rocks below. She didn’t look down. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t. 

“ _I’m sorry my-shield, I’ll be more careful. Climb, you're almost there_.” 

They were so close to the damned top, _if someone would just look over the edge_ \- then- 

A tug on her skirts, fists in the fabric, and above her, the dark silhouette of Brisyn rolling up over the top ledge. _Good. Okay that’s good. At least she’s safe_. But no, now Brisyn was turning back, her grin of triumph painted harsh and grey by the sudden lightning and then, by dread. She stretched her hand down to Jaina anyway. 

_I’m going to fall- she's going to try to help me- and I won't be able to save us- we'll both die_. 

In the dark, a second figure. Grim, a dagger coming down in an easy sweep. Nathanos. 

A ripping, her dress tearing. Firm hands on her shoulders hauling her the remaining distance. 

Disoriented, it took Jaina precious seconds to recognize her fort, and then she was struggling to reach Brisyn, screaming for a healer- 

Nathanos clamped down on her shoulder, restrained her. 

“ _Easy War-Queen-_ ” His voice shouldn’t have reassured her so- but it was how he spoke to his recruits _-_ “The priests have your Champion.” 

Jaina was panting. _Slow, be calm_ . She watched the blood knights mixed in with her marines, a trough of pitch flaring to life. Fire arrows _. Good._

Nathanos started to speak- _Nathanos?_ Jaina’s mind caught up- _if he’s here, Sylvanas?_ She tried to jerk free, casting her eyes wildly about. But she wasn’t there. 

He bent close, trying to speak over the roar of cannon fire, but the scream of the wind from the height of the fortress stole his words despite her spell. 

“--Tourney grounds- mobbed- shelter- ---- _separated,_ ” He spoke in slurry of common and Thalassian, betraying his agitation, “ half --Cadet core— _honored Sylvanas-hero-queen-_ _idiot!_ " 

Lighting struck the flag pole as Nathanos finished, “But then the anchors snapped and the portal corridor wouldn’t open again.” 

Jaina’s mind ran from him, she couldn’t parse the words or their importance. Her response spilled out, “The rangers- _Mine- Anya, Lyana?_ Children- _Sylvanas_ \--” 

He was shaking his head, “Something’s wrong down there- everyone is ill- _none of our blood_ can get a portal down there. They can't concentrate- it's like some magic is _playing-strumming their bones like_ before _._ ” 

And then, at the same time, 

“You need me-” 

“-We need you.” 

Jaina felt torn; her fort, her district, her wife, her friend sprawled in the gravel as a priest whispered golden light into her chest. 

“Admiral!” 

Jaina glanced up, saw a figure striding smartly to her. “I took the liberty of a few field promotions.” They raised their hand, Jaina’s own ring shining in the light of a volley of arrows. 

“Mayweather!” Jaina could have kissed them. 

“Noncombatants away. As per your request.” Their eyes swept over her, admiration, concern, conviction. “ _Your orders, my-Lord Admiral_?” 

Nathonos held her wrist, impatient but willing to accommodate. 

“Your best, Mayweather. Try your best- I go-” 

“- _To the Warchief. Belore guide you_.” 

Nathanos wasted no time. They ran, a flat-out sprint, and though Jaina was fit, she couldn't hope to keep up with a Ranger, and certainly not an undead one. They slid across wet cobblestone, and Jaina would have spun out, if Nathanos hadn’t deftly caught her. He looked agitated again, staring up at the face of the storm bearing down above them, and back to Jaina. The distance between them and the tournament grounds was miles, and Jaina hated each moment of her own weakness. She broke into a run again even as she knew she couldn’t keep the pace _. Shortcut._ How? She looked to the dark clouds bracketed by roofs and ice bridges- 

“Nathanos, do you trust me?” 

“What?” He spared her a glance, correcting their course and she doggedly followed at his heel, “I hardly think now -” 

“I said, do you trust me?-” Jaina realized she didn't’ have to wait, she didn’t have to support Nathanos’s weight, and the risk of hurting him was far less. There weren’t any dead to call to them here either. _A demonstration_. 

She lunged for his bracer with both hands, and blinked them up to roof, the slate shifting under their feet. Nathanos steadied himself, one foot in a clay gutter. She was clasping his wrist this time. 

“Move, I can keep up.” Jaina insisted. 

_I made Anya leave my side, I can get you to bring me to her._

“ _Run, Ranger Lord_ ,” She framed it as a request, a supplication, and his face twisted in surprise, “ _Honored-kinsmen, take me to our-Queen.”_

The stillness that followed, the flash of lightning stretched the instant to a lifetime. He held so still, still enough Jaina watched the roll of rain over his scarred face, before he jumped for the next roof dragging her with him. 

_Madness._ That was one way to describe it, he certainly trusted her though. Their fingers locked with fierce necessity as Jaina supplemented and controlled their rapid pace. They ran, blinked, a shower of falling shingles and snow as they sprinted and slid and fell over streets, up towers and over shops and homes toward the hold. And at last, to the forward wall. 

_Madness_. Soldiers, seasoned and young alike of all races- alliance and horde- even the ranger hopefuls had their hands full. Jaina watched open mouthed at the rhythmic lightning strikes that lanced down again and again at the broken colosseum structure, half leveled in the field beyond the wall. 

_Is this what the siege of Silvermoon was?_ Jaina’s carefully constructed composure shot through with rage. How dare this happen on Hallow's End _. How dare it happen again?_

She almost wept to see the labor of the grand gardens brought low and at first, she thought the snow was stained with blood. But no, the paint powders, pigments for the children's games- they were blown wide and scattered. Vivid blue ands and orange, reds and yellows. Deep green and rich pink. 

But Sylvanas wasn’t on the wall. _She hadn’t ever sought the safety of gates, why would she start now?_

Almost as if he could read her, Nathanos was guiding her on through.There was little resistance but much debris in their path, then Nathanos landed them to a command center, a knot of Dark Rangers huddled in urgent argument. 

Captain Areiel noticed them first, her furrowed brows rising with some relief. “ _Our General-guiding-force is far afield._ ” She clapped Nathanos on the shoulder, “ _But, Our Wife is here now, and that is a good omen._ ” 

It was the first time Jaina truly grasped the way Areiel spoke, the gravity that her word choice implied. _Our wife- a plural,_ an intimacy. Inclusion and a group identity. The way one might pledge fealty, or say ‘our country.’ The Ranger Captain didn’t give pause for Jaina’s slow revelations. 

“ _Nathan’-Our-wolfhound and I got the main bulk of the herd in, but many brave-foolhardy stayed to fight. The hunt went sour- something different, bastards went for the portals and magic fonts first- sought the mages out.”_

Vorel nodded, “ _Springpaw-Lyana reached us just as the dome came down. Her,-mine-Velonara_ -” her voice caught and Loralyn covered effortlessly is common, “Velonara, and Lyana Stayed with Sylvanas to cover the retreat.” 

Jaina could feel the weight of the names they didn’t say like a boot heel on her throat. Alina, Anya. _My Shrike._

_“Hawkstrider-brighteyed-Regent is with Blood-Lion-Matriarch at the west gate, they should hold the wall, there.”_ Captain Ariel gestured at a map, something carved into the ice at their feet, but in the darkness, Jaina couldn’t read it, “ _And we are here_ .” She made another tracing movement some distance away, _“And Our-Beloved is here_.” 

Loralyn’s voice had a hard edge despite the tenderness with which she held Vorel’s hand, “But we cannot get close without-” She paused to pick her words, “ill effects.” 

Nathanos nodded, “ _I saw them- I would not care to see them-my-family suffer it again_.” 

Jaina squinted down at the map. _Magic as poison?_ She didn’t stop to remember where she’d heard that _._ _Perhaps, it was just too much- those anchor stones did shatter, the azurite spilling its contents deep into the earth_ . She shivered at that implication. Damn the light, she couldn’t see the map. 

“ _Shield your eyes pack-mates,_ ” Jaina warned, sending a surprisingly stable magelight to hover just above the crude carving. _That’s better_ . Now, it was a matter of how to get there, _how to get us all there_ . She glanced up at Nathanos for suggestion, because it seemed the thing to do- but she wished she hadn’t. Filled with a bottomless, helpless energy, Nathanos looked sick. As if the loss of his mentor _-queen-best friend,_ and those _cadets-his children_ would kill him on the spot if he had to wait one more minute. 

She understood. _Sylvanas._ Would she be brought low by the dead once more in a field of bright flowers? 

Jaina expected sorrow to fill her, but instead some seed of anger buried deep in her gut sprouted. A vine of feeling crawling up the partitions she’d made to clear her mind. She was so wrapped up in the feeling that she hadn’t noticed the rangers relax. It wasn’t until their ears flicked forward, and slow, sly grins spread over their faces, that she understood. Jaina blinked, the image was so much a pack of wolves; teeth for arrows and bows for lolling tongues. The steady pulse of her magelight drove the point home. _I can filter the run off_. 

Kilaria finally spoke, her face hopeful and eager in the steady blue light, “ _Go before us War Queen, cast, and We'll follow in your wake. You are a sea breeze against the rancor_.” 

Her eyes shot to Captain Ariel who was palming her wicked looking sword in anticipation. 

The feeling was infectious, Jaina’s anger a spark born aloft in their hopeful wind. Magic could addle you, Jaina knew it well, knew she should remain calm, determined, focused. She should not court madness so brashly. _I almost leveled a city- this city- the last time I fed this feeling._

Instead, she smiled back. 

_"Show me where to bite, Captain-honored-aunt-Areiel, and I will be your teeth."_

Areiel nodded, and Nathanos was already reaching for Jaina’s gloved hand _, “Storm-Breaker and I will lead; follow, and may your claws be sharp._

The fair grounds were a ruin, a ribcage of broken columns and tattered tents. A crushed carnival of obstacles and foes that she flew through. Jaina and Nathanos worked well _, too well,_ together, a fluidity that made her wonder just how many times they had tried to kill each other in the past; they predicted each other's movement so easily. She was glad of the support, because drawing mana from the ground and sending it out in packets behind her like a deranged Father Winter was making her giddy. Breathless and close to giggles as she and Nathanos struck down and avoided the dead in their path. It should have been a warning to pace herself, but she couldn’t heed it as the beginnings of terror bled into her anger. This was different than fighting at sea. This wasn’t about keeping an army of nameless soldiers under her banner safe; it wasn’t even about her own destruction. It was about Sylvanas, those children, her friends. The fear made her wild. She felt like a specter of wrath, and even though her signature would lure the undead for miles around she couldn’t bear to curb the use, all she could think was _\- good. Let them come to me. They stand between me, and mine._

Her skin buzzed, crackled. She caught her reflection in the remains of an ice sculpture as it raced along with her, and again in the twisted metal of warped street carts; mana burns lit her like an arcanists careful tattoos, _no not careful, too organic._ She looked feral- the scarlet slash of the serpent and the white of her hair and the rippling pulse of arcane- looked Drust. 

She heard it then, a piercing hair-raising wail, and the echoes of it, an unholy choir. _Banshees_. 

Jaina dashed forward, and _there._ A barricade where the grand viewing box would be, timber and canvas and snow- besieged on all sides. It was almost humorous in its absurdity, the youths in mock military clothes, fighting in formation around wounded, with their blunted weapons little better than toys. In front of them were Sylvanas and her rangers. Of course, she would not leave them- _and old gods and little fish_ \- Sylvanas could fight. She was a machine made for the purpose of war. But no matter how godly she was, she only had so many arrows. Jaina felt the sharp pleasant call, the pull to spend mana. To feel it rushing out of her. Out through her fingers, and answering her will. She didn’t refuse. _Our rangers will catch up._

Nathanos made to release her, propelling her forward, “ _Make mine safe_ ” 

“ _We will._ ” She took him with her. 

She picked a spot. Teleported them there. It was a trivial thing, and the Thunderwave that burst out and knocked the dead back was thoughtless instinct, if well shaped to avoid her allies. The spell shield she snapped up into place was more thoughtful, but that was more because Sylvanas had turned, Death Whisper leveled and burgeoning with black magic- 

-Sylvanas paused; All elation and fear, relief, and resignation. She mouthed something to Jaina, obscured by the spitting shield of the ward. 

_A portal._ That was right. _Get us out, children first._ Nathanos already was speaking to them all in a steady, sure voice that had their undivided attention. 

Jaina reached for the portal line on the west wall- found it, and- _blight, that hurt._ A resistance, a ringing in her ears that spread down her jaw, like her bones had been hollowed to acrimonious windchimes. It pushed against her artlessly, and filled with spite Jaina let it try. _Is that what our rangers felt?_ She imagined it must have been a hundred times worse, with their sensitivity, and their own death magic. Her nostrils flared, hands curling to fists. What would have the gall to hurt them? What would dare contest her? 

_A lich maybe?_

_A shade of some age past? Or a group of undead casters?_ She did not know if it were possible _._

Jaina would have blushed with embarrassment to know so little of what her wife fought regularly if she hadn’t been so furious. She followed the weakest thread of opposition and pushed mana into it until it shattered. The mana that flowed back to her in a euphoric tide was only an added satisfaction. Her portal opened easily. 

“- _A lich-Lord?- the stars have cruel humor_ -” 

“ _Spellbreakers round, swords ready, something comes_ -” 

-Liadrin’s voice- “ _NO, stay your hand- I know that signature-_ ” 

“- _-Elune’s tits-_ Jaina?” Lor’themar’s stunned form shimmered through the opening, “Jaina is everyone- Belore, Nathanos- Children, this way- Now!” 

He reached through; the children streamed towards him. 

Another toll of magic rang through Jaina, clattering in her teeth and overshadowing Liadrin’s address, “ _Lord High Commander, hold! I’ll send._..” 

Jaina shifted her attention away from Liadrin and back to the annoyance, holding her shield and portal while Nathanos encouraged his charges forward. Jaina followed the lines back again to their unknown source and caught them like so many fish in a drag net. _Lichlings_? Eggshells under her heel. The discordant drone vanished, and judging by the distant cry of excitement, it was appreciated. 

_Oh. Interesting._ Something stung her in retaliation, a mosquito bite of pain. One, and then many. She’d been noticed now, and a pressure began to build behind her eyes. Powerful, but uncoordinated. Retaliation for whatever she’d destroyed. Despite the danger, sick curiosity surfaced in her thoughts. How much could she wield- _‘filter_ ’ at a time. It wasn’t like using her own mana reserves, or even redirecting arcana for a counter spell. This was like swallowing mana crystals, like becoming a focusing iris. 

And it felt _good_. To shape it and brandish it like a scythe instead of shilling it away in strings and slivers. She imagined that she might be a snake, a jaw unhinging to consume the threat- but the earth trembled. Heaved. 

Another roll of the earth, and it was like a carpet had been jerked out from beneath her feet. Jaina saw her portal swirl, the hazy line of reinforcements queued to come through as Nathanos shepherded the last through, holding a limp body tight to his chest- a flash of Liadrin’s uniform, her voice- and then the portal flickered, wobbling dangerously. 

_The nerve_. 

Force wrapped around her shield and Jaina had no choice but to double down. She shouted a warning, and let loose the portal, contracting her shield. Without the luxury of Brisyn’s presence, she shaped her spell, a bell jar over herself, and hoped it would hold while she gathered her wits. 

Something had to be done about the magic being brought against them, and the storm -an angry froth of green-black mana above them-Jaina was sure that was a priority. But so too were Sylvanas and two women fighting back-to-back with her. Through her haze, they seemed to Jaina like high art she had seen in Dalaran, the frescoes of ancient battles come to life; their ceremonial armor splashed in the bright powdered paint, the icy ground streaked with their war dance. Shades of rich gold and purple. 

_Where are the rest of the Rangers_ ? They were supposed to be behind her, but Jaina could not see them past the growing mass of dead coming their way. What could have waylaid them? _We were supposed to reach Sylvanas, and leave_ . That’s how she had understood it at least. _In, and out._ _I could teleport us out, now._ She inhaled, exhaled. _Unless Sylvanas wants to fight?_ The prospect should not have excited her. Should not have thrilled her. But Jaina wasn’t thinking properly, her skin felt tight, and her breath came in rapid gulps. _Sylvanas is a General_ . Jaina reasoned. _She’ll make the call better than I can in this state._ So Jaina sought her, it was easy, she hadn’t taken her eyes from her to begin with. 

Jaina was entranced with way Sylvanas fought, with the economy of her movements. Not a wasted or unnecessary action. The arc of her short sword could have been a love letter to mathematics, her repost and swift finish were an indecent flirtation with gravity. The hand on her bow had the same care and sureness as if it had been upon Jaina’s own throat. The awareness between Sylvanas and her soldiers was astounding, well telegraphed or the product of training, Jaina was not sure which. It was frightening to watch. _Exhilarating_. She wanted to join them. 

Lightning struck as Lyana reached for arrows- _no- too slow she’ll be cut down-_ and she would have been, but Velonara took the blow across her long blades and then Sylvanas was with them once more, clearing space and glancing back at Jaina. 

Jaina leaned forward, expectant, waiting for an order. Sylvanas’s attention was torn away, whipping around bow drawn as still more of the throng advanced. 

_Light, would they never stop coming? Where is Captain Areiel?_

Jaina suddenly resented her shield, her position; sitting pretty like some rose under glass. She was drawing more of them with each passing moment. More death towards her wife and friends. _I should just teleport the four of us to the wall_ . It was a brash thing to consider- the logistics of teleporting them mid fight and not butchering them would have been- _I could do it- I will do it if she just tells me what she wants me to do. There must be some reason we haven’t left._

Jaina had just resolved to drop her shield and bring the matter to Sylvanas directly when something struck- violet sparks dazzling her sight. Cold- _so terribly cold_ \- spread in frosted flowers up her shield along with coiling dread and the acrid taint of corrupted rune magic. She understood what delayed the captain. 

She knew it wasn’t him. But knowing was nothing. Her mouth was filled with ash, and then blood as her teeth pierced her lip. And then there wasn’t just the one, there were many. The rusted angles of their plate still bearing the old chasing. _The Silver Hand._ Even if these ones had not fallen to the bitterness in the plaugelands, now, it seemed fate had angled them to join their brothers. The death knights towered, somehow worse for having no direction save for their own thirst for mana. An uneasy alliance, a hunting party. 

Another blow against her shield had her patience in shreds. _I will_ boil _them in their armor I will present their skulls to Sylvanas as an anniversary gift I will_ \- 

_Do nothing_. She couldn’t do anything, not without putting Lyana, Velonara and Sylvanas at terrible risk. Would Sylvanas want her to do it-Where was Sylvanas? 

_There._

She wasn’t fighting- she was pushing at something- a great beam of timber a few yards away that stuck out of the snow like a broken bone. An axe, something thrown connected with Sylvanas’s shoulder, and the impact ripped through Jaina. But, if anything Sylvanas dug in deeper, ignoring the wall of death knights at her back. Lyana and Velonara were lifting with her now too- and Jaina saw from underneath, something fighting to get free. 

_Our missing rangers-_

She had to do something to aid them- Vengeance and helpless fear had her pacing the edge of her shield like a caged animal- _something that will not blow them apart_ \- _Ah_ . A mirror image sprouted from the ground, a diversion that the knights at once surrounded. She sent another, and another, a battalion of them, stalling until finally a last heave had two shapes bursting out from underneath. _Gods,_ but the Knights were turning, no longer interested in the mirror image when it became clear that a more powerful source was nearby. One of them raised their hands skyward, a mockery of a paladin’s plea- 

The earth moaned. 

A fist punched up through the ice, and another. And another. The scrabbling of talons and high-pitched laughter. Ghouls. _That’s what must have happened on the beach._ _Death Knights._ Jaina wiped the blood from her lip on the back of her hand. Said the word out loud again like it was a curse as the rangers formed up before her. If her foolishly noble rangers would just get _behind_ her, Jaina could _erase_ those abominations. _Purge them._ The thought was a warm caress, made her veins sing. _Kill them all_. Warm like the blood in her mouth. 

Lyana and Velonara were a blur, Jaina couldn’t tell them apart between the flashes of lightning, one of them reached for an arrow, but grasped at air- the quiver empty. A hand reaching to pluck one from a corpse, and Anya paired with Alina covered- and then a Knight landed a blow with such force that Velonara was falling back at an odd angle. She hit the ground. Sprawled flat on the churned-up snow and flower petals- 

Sylvanas screamed the knight into a fine mist. At cost- she was herded back, separated. 

Jaina hadn’t realized that she had covered her ears, but she had. Her fingers shook, gripping tightly at her wild hair. Crouched, with eager mana pooling in her gut, she managed to focus on the lines of Sylvanas’s sturdy frame. Surely now, with them out, The Warchief would give the order to retreat? Her General would give her a command. Her steady-handed archer would guide her, as she had before- 

Jaina watched with a detached horror as a hulking shape swung down from nowhere and connected. A snow golem, and Anya was there already bringing it down, but even she could not stop the first arrow that thudded into Sylvanas’s chest plate. Or the second. The death knights ranged around, tightening their circle like Lorderian nobles on a fox hunt. Above, the storm pressed down as if it were eager to embrace the earth. 

Jaina thought it was the ghouls laughing, until when she dragged in breath and the sound faltered, she recognized it as her own. _I’ll have to choose._ It couldn’t have been more painful than if one of the bronze dragon flight had personally shown her each mistake she’d ever made; each life she’d lost through action or inaction. Helpless, angry, and bitter. That had always been her course. And what could she do here, but wait until the knights gave her no choice? Was she supposed to butcher her own family before the enemy did? Or maybe she was supposed to die with them, and let her city fall. _Is that what Sylvanas had to choose?_

The idea was like a final weight on a balance, a feather that skewed her control. Her anger and lust for magic flared bright once more, like a key gliding over tumblers. _They glut on mana. I shall give them their fill_. The hot, pulsing animal part of her reveled. She had no pistol, no family flagship dredged up and reclaimed to anchor her. She could not leave to seek the sea’s favor or protection. _It matters little._ She spun her fingers, summoning her staff and sighing at its familiar weight. Distance was no matter. 

_I can't go to the ocean, but I can bring the ocean to me._

She stepped once more with her mind into that place between. Seeped into it, grotesque and yawning, a chasm that accepted her with relish. 

**_YOU—_ ** apprehension. Ecstatic expectation **.** ** _Release-revenge-hunger_ **

It thrashed against her, and Jaina tightened her grip. _A garrote wire, a noose sliding tight under its burden._ She sent the impressions, her spine lengthening as she stood to her full height. 

**I can kill you with this storm you chased, or we may make a pact.**

A picture- _warlocks, death magic, enslaved to hunt ships, troll slaves pushed overboard still chained hand and foot, sacrifice-_ **_\--UNWILLING._ **

Jaina could guess at what it might have once been, some primordial spirit enslaved to hunt- maybe even an elemental lord once worthy of any shaman’s awe. Not so now; She should just destroy it consume it, use it to- 

**_\--yes--_ **

Jaina saw through its eyes the red drake death, the anger relief and envy. Jaina considered obliging it- and only just refrained. She had neither the will or the patience to fight two fronts. Something dug at her, a whisper of conscience. _Choice._ She impressed _animal husbandry-sanche lions and raptors with handlers, dire wolves and riders. Rangers and rogues leading parties, bards and inspired warriors- partnership._

Immediate distrust. _Knives and shrouds, visceral betrayal a fight, a brother left halfdead on the ocean floor. Despite_ this, Jaina had little time to feel pity. 

**Be my beast- take these waters freely as your home. Suffer none of my enemies and I’ll feed you. I’ll nurse you today from this storm, and again if the need is too much.**

It balked. A whirlpool of conflicted thought, but Jaina cut through it like a knife to the heart. She held it as close, as intimately and compassionately as she knew how. 

**All this, or; I can leave you. Alone.**

She released it entirely. Dropped it like a cannonball over the rail. Let it sink, cut off from anything and everything, a perfectly sealed void. 

Waited. 

Then caught it. 

The response was thunderous, placating 

- **-A pact. Yes—your beast. Hungry-heal-Tide Mother-feed--.**

Jaina lifted her head, satisfied, tightening her fingers on the leather grip of her staff. 

“As you wish.” 

Much as before, Jaina’s vision went white. There was only a single curl of bright light streaking towards her from the sky. She didn’t try to hold her spell, to build or shape it as she had on Legacy. She let it through. It burned like a fine wine, like pipe smoke wafting heady in her nostrils. Almost sensual, the way it seemed to slide down her back and through her feet to the old ley line and out to the beast. _My beast_ . The feeling was fleeting and familial. _And I will make safe mine._

It was all over in the same thunderous crack. 

The rain had stopped. Steam guttered around her, and her hands trembled slightly. The sky was light blue grey- but not unnatural- a snowflake kissed her cheek. 

Jaina felt huge. 

Fathomless, shapeless and filled with menace. All limbs and tight muscle and rage. She would dwell on this knew bond later- and she would feel neither guilt nor regret. Certainly couldn’t feel that now. The port would be safe, and she felt that burden slip from her shoulders. _Now, where is my wife?_

The fight had moved away from her, further down the line of fallen buildings, and she grit her teeth. _Is that_ \- She saw ichor drip down _Aunt-Ariel's_ cheek- _how very dare they_. Wasn’t it enough that Death Knights had forced them to bend once before? Jaina guessed that the rangers had arrived and advanced, giving her the space and time to dispel the storm. She could see other shapes too- living soldiers, with Liadrin’s bright red sun- Blood Knights. Jaina intended to repay that trust. That loyalty. That love. 

She meant to blink to their side. She had- honestly. But her feeling of love and compassion had wavered, skewing sideways into contempt. Outrage _. Ghouls and death knights._ She had made a promise to them too, hadn’t she? 

She didn’t land where she had intended, but it was where she wanted to be. Near their teeth and claws and their ruined armor that once held so much honor. She shook, trembled, overcharged them- and then there were only burnt-black silhouettes on the ice. Dissolved. 

Alina blinked at her, wiping soot from her eyes as she bared her teeth in a grin. 

“ _Warsong, Our Lady drew them west-”_

_“Shrike and Springpaw on her heels”_ Vorel supplied, gathering arrows from the ground as the rangers formed up with their reinforcements, still weary of the remaining death knights, heeding their captain’s commands, “ _Toward the burning square.”_

Jaina wanted to shout, but she understood. Sylvanas would have been as much a target as herself, and her wedding ring and anchor pendant wouldn’t have been subtle. Even as she loved her, Jaina cursed Sylvanas for her honor, for her damned goodness and sense of duty. Jaina took a moment to find west- _past the death knights_? 

Pleasure spiked through her. If it was on the way to Sylvanas, destroying them wasn’t only for ego. For justice. It was necessary. _Cathartic_. 

She didn’t want the impersonal distance of her staff she wanted- 

“ _Hail, Sister-Storm!_ " Nathanos was pushing something into her hand- a curved elven short sword. “ _You’re not flagging now?_ ” He grinned at Jaina the way he did Areiel, the way he did on the training yard when Kilaria sparred him and she slipped past his guard. 

_“Oh, brother-hound, not with the quarry half bagged._ ” Jaina returned his smile. She knew she must look a sight, must smell of burnt ozone and gore, reek of battle lust. She managed semi coherent thought, “Children- wounded-future- hope, safely through?” 

Nathanos entered the fray with her, this time with the full pride of the rangers behind him. A band of lions bringing down big game. 

“ _Secure. Through your portal, but it collapsed too soon- it took us time to organize and rejoin the battle_.” 

Jaina didn’t respond. She was distracted by the clash of her magic against the tempered rune blades, with the fission of electric pleasure as she drove her mana-wrapped sword through an iron gorget. When the last death knight was harried on all sides, she again broke away from the battle, sure in her forces victory- to pursue, once more, her wife. 

Footsteps raced behind her. She wasn’t surprised to have Nathanos with her once again but the irony of it was rich, “ _Once more, us two, to Our bold Queen?_ ” 

She was surprised enough to laugh at his remark as he pulled abreast of her, “ _What can I say-Humans, we get the job done._ ” 

Jaina scaled a fallen wall with him, and her laugh turned high, thin, like a rabbit screaming in a snare. 

Sylvanas. _Oh love._

Sylvanas was out numbered, overmatched. Still fighting. Piles of her victims made a grim hallway to funnel her attackers towards her chosen arena in front of the massive wickerman. She fought like a baited bear before her den. Lyana and Anya obviously wounded, still battled ferociously, guarding her back. Fierce, and wild and failing. Jaina should have felt pity and revulsion. Except she couldn’t feel anything at all, as memory tore claws through her. She remembered her Ranger, sneaking into her student lodgings, climbing the trellis to bring her a rare flower, her General- proud and cautious, suggesting a more formal alliance- her Queen; her lover once more bathed in the sunlight through stained glass windows, whispering her love through parted lips. She imagined all that, gone. 

The snow was soft, caught in Jaina’s eyelashes as she leapt down without further thought. 

The snow hardened. Flame, burning so hot it was cold, a rainbow of colour; a razor that she slid between the advancing dead and her family, and sliced outwards in one fine, precise arc. 

The fire screamed up into the sky, pushing outward and racing out along the perimeter of the outlying watch wall. Anything living, dead, or otherwise in its path would be hewn down. In that moment, Jaina didn’t care. Cinder mixed with the falling snow, and the sparks settled into the kindling. The open arms of the wicker man burst alight. 

Her eyes snapped back to Sylvanas, on the raised platform at the feet of the effigy. _Unconquerable, other worldly_. Her outline against the blaze was bold and strong. Jaina had been foolish to worry. She was so wild and powerful, Jaina ached to touch her. _A goddess, a queen to obey and worship_ \- Jaina should have never second guessed- 

Sylvanas broadened her stance to address her own, and her step faltered. She flinched, sucked in a breath. The crackling of the dried wood, and the shouts of the rangers and other soldiers flooding the square faded away. There was no other sound for Jaina except that one rattling rasp of Sylvanas’s breath. She watched dumbly, the glimmer of ichor catching the light as it dripped from her gauntlet. - _And there’s that ax_ \- sticking out of her shoulder- and a cluster of broken arrows like a bouquet in her chest. 

Voices were raised, victorious, alarmed, elated. Jaina wasn’t listening. 

Sylvanas’s lip was split, a line of bruises blossoming on her jaw like wildflowers. 

All of Jaina's rage soured, replaced by a legion of stinging fear. Her next action was a reflex. She sent a thread of magic through her tokens, and watched as Sylvanas’s head jerked up, searching the crowd gathering at her feet. Then, her bow slipped from her fingers. The clatter of it on the ice and stone was a thunder clap. Still, she held herself with the austerity and dignity of a monarch as she managed the stairs, fixing her gaze on Jaina. She stared at her, but didn’t make eye contact. It was an assessment, a pragmatic inventory. 

The halt in Sylvanas’s sure gait was torture. Jaina watched her lips move, but couldn’t hear past her blood rushing in her ears. She was all too acutely aware of how little protection that ceremonial armor really offered. 

“ _Brother_ ,” Sylvanas’s voice was low, soft, and commanded others to silence, “ _You brought my-Sea-siren to me, Her-banshee, for a last song. When did you become so sentimental?_ ” Her laugh was the baying of hounds denied their sport. 

Jaina followed another drop of ichor. It splashed green black on the crushed marigolds, on the streamers of chrysanthemums and trampled violets. Jaina knew that tone of voice, a strain, a bravado seeking refuge in humor. But Jaina couldn’t move. Pinned. _Why does no one else go to her?_

Nathanos did not answer her. Sylvanas frowned, bathed in fire light. Even swaying slightly, her voice had such command; 

“ _My love-first-only, is unharmed_?” 

Jaina closed her eyes, unsteady under that distanced gaze. The fear, the tempting edge of power and keen release hovered just in her reach. It was there, but she swallowed it back. There was nowhere to vent it, nowhere to lash out. 

“ _Our-War-wife-queen is unscathed_ -” 

“ _Sea-marshal-wave-binder roped a beast to her service-_ ” 

“ _Cherished little sister bled the sky!_ ” 

Jaina opened her eyes. 

Sylvanas had approached, was waiting as if Jaina were a recruit who’d turned out late for inspection. The pins keeping Jaina in place melted, her insecurity replaced by action. She raced toward Sylvanas where she stood, alone and untouchable, and embraced her. Jaina slipped her arms around her, gathering her close in a way that might have been unasked for, inappropriate before their assembled forces. 

_Tides, she feels so small_. So unbearably light. Jaina struggled with the idea that if she held on too tightly, she might shatter. Jaina cradled the back of Sylvanas’s head, knocking away frost that had settled in the creased seams of hood around her ears. She wasn’t sure where else she could touch that wouldn’t cause pain. 

“ _Oh, my brave Queen,_ ” Jaina spoke the words against her check, brushing her lips across her hairline, “ _My Starlight, to the keep with us_.” 

Sylvanas pulled back from her in the hush that followed. Her face flitting through a gauntlet of emotion before she let her eyes fall closed. She leaned into Jaina’s shoulder; her face tucked against Jaina’s neck. 

_“If it would please you, Lady wife._ ” 

“ _You please me my Lady Moon, you always have._ ” 

The tense, urgent procession inside was a blur. The city was safe- Lor' themar had stepped into authority. The hurried and hushed commands for orderlies, for damage reports for medics and apothecaries seemed worlds away. Each jostle, each step, and the near imperceptible wince from Sylvanas were unbearable. Jaina wanted to growl, to snap, to bite at anyone who came close. She knew it was foolish- a territorial instinct. She couldn’t help it. Even as the apothecaries- expert necromancers- placed gentle hands on Sylvanas once she’d been lain in their quarters, Jaina flexed her jaw. It hadn’t been enough, not fast enough. _Clumsy brutes_. Each move they’d made, each incantation or salve hadn’t seemed enough- Jaina had wanted to behead them each time Sylvanas’s ear so much as twitched, to smear their blood over her skin and offer their corpses to the sea. 

Jaina made fists of her hands as she paced the rug in the outer room, banished at last by Anya. She knew Anya had made the right call, but punching the medic had felt right at time. 

She worked the path across the rug again, a stain of wet and filth over the bright thread. She scrubbed absently, washed, wrapped herself in one of Sylvanas's tunics and paced again. A healer saw to her, and she tolerated it. Only just. And paced again. And again. Until night had flown and the light was coming in weak through the window. Finally, the chamber door creaked open. 

She was over in a heartbeat, dodging past the healers who scurried from her path as Anya closed the door silently behind her. 

The room was pregnant with cloves and anise, sharp to cut through the smell of death magic. Jaina’s eyes raced over the side table where salves and tools had been left, and to where Sylvanas was propped up gracefully on their massive bed. She looked- ‘better’. _Not a high bar to meet, but it is significantly better than ‘worse’._

Jaina lingered on the exposed wounds, deep punctures packed in a way that would never have been done on a living body; on the angry fractals of dark ichor lacing away under her skin. Jaina couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if she’d been slower, if she hadn’t been so lucky, if she had slipped back on that wall and tumbled down to the breakers and the beach. She should ask about the suddenness of the storm, the death knights. She should tell her about the harbor beast and the pact she made to keep the city and herself safe. 

Jaina tried to stay calm as she rounded the bed, and sat rigidly. She took up one of Sylvanas’s impossibly delicate wrists, smeared her thumb against the greasy medicine there. Suddenly she couldn’t think of what to say. 

“ _Dear heart_ ,” Sylvanas’s voice was jarringly light, “Is something wrong?” 

Jaina bit her lip against the sharpness of her tongue. _I should say something comforting_. Instead, what came out was flat, and implacable, “You are not permitted to die. You can’t-” 

“Wife,” soft, aiming at a joke, “Glad tidings too late.” 

Usually, Sylvanas’s attempts at humor made her smile. She grimaced instead, her fingers trembling and worrying at the perfect fold of bandage. Jaina bounced her foot anxiously, making the bottles of ointment and medicines clatter on the side table. Her voice strained, “Sylvanas... don’t...” 

“I died a hero's death once before, _my starlight_ ,” She said airily, dry as the sun continued to pry its way through the small window, “Maybe, this time if I’m terribly unlucky, it will stick.” 

Rationally, Jaina knew this was how Sylvanas coped, she knew it. But it pricked at her, antagonized her fury. She was still half convinced that Sylvanas would scatter to the wind while she watched, that she wouldn’t even have a body to mourn. 

“Why do you mock me?” 

“It’s my dying wish to see you laugh.” The delivery was sarcastic, so over acted, that Jaina did laugh. A hysterical, forced action. 

At length, Jaina brought the hand she was holding to her mouth. Pressed scarred knuckles to her lips. “Let me- Let me finish healing you- let me do something, anything.” She stole a glance at Sylvanas’s carefully composed features, “Remember how you felt when I came from _Legacy_?” 

Sylvanas’s façade dropped, reaching out with her other hand to encourage Jaina beside her. Jaina didn’t let go of her hand. She kissed Sylvanas's cheek, her forehead, finding the spells and runes worked into the salves. More carefully than she’d done anything in her entire life, she wove her own mana into them. As gentle as she could, with the care of lace maker. And it was strange, to use this magic- _necromancy?_ \- but natural in a way that made a primal part of her hum contentedly. When Sylvanas tapped at her shoulder, Jaina relented. She braced herself on her side, along the long line of Sylvanas’s body, careful not to touch in case she brought harm. 

“Let me take care of you. Let me protect you,” her hand was seeking Sylvanas’s again, “I’m sorry I wasn’t by your side in battle. I’m sorry they landed one blow.” 

Sylvanas swallowed, the exposed column of her throat flexing with tendons as she repeated the act. Visibly overwhelmed, Sylvanas brought Jaina’s hand back to her cheek, “You were where you were needed.” 

“Where I wanted to be, was by your side. Sylvanas, I wanted to burn the world to get there.” 

“You don’t mean that.” 

Jaina tried again with the salves, reaching for the attunement with her tokens, bright against Sylvanas’s bandaged chest. Sylvanas relaxed, sighing as she slouched into the pillows. 

Jaina stroked a lock of her hair back behind her ear, “You will never have to fight alone. I will always come for you.” She frowned as Sylvanas eyebrows drew down, lips pursed. _Perhaps the magic isn’t helping._

She tried again, softer, more delicately, “I promise. I’ll always come back for you.” 

Sylvanas’s eyes were narrow red slits as she hissed, all bitterness and sorrow. “You’re mortal. You’ll die.” No more joking. 

Jaina flinched, her mouth gone dry. “You came back to me, didn’t you?” 

“It's not the same thing.” 

“No-” Jaina agreed, measuring her hand against Sylvanas, comparing long fingers, with her broader palm, “No, I’m choosing it.” A certainty settled around her. 

Dumbfounded, Sylvanas’s fingers curled around hers. “ _What_?” 

“Always. Constant. Dead, and after.” 

“W-what?” 

" _I choose You, and You are Mine._ " Fierce affection speared through her chest, “You don't get to throw your life away because you cannot see your value- your valor, Honor or goodness. I see it- even under all those deeds that cloud your self-worth. If you are so unfit to judge your life- I take custody of it- your life is mine. I will not see you squander it, nor will I suffer others to take it from me. Even you." 

Her eyes closed tightly, “Do not say such things.” 

Jaina pressed anyway, “Say that I own you, or that I’m yours in death too?” 

“I-” Sylvanas stared at her incredulously, her panicked laugh warbling in the room like a trapped bird, “Both. Neither. This is... duress. I am under duress- you cannot make oaths to me in this state.” 

“I can.” Jaina nodded, tilting their joined hands this way and that, admiring their contrast. How nicely they fit. “I do. I will.” 

When Sylvanas wouldn’t meet her gaze again, Jaina deftly took her other hand. She traced words of affection over her forearms, love letters and patterns of warding and protection. Small things. Careful things that pierced her heart through. She said them aloud. 

"I choose you, not just now. But when I wake up in the morning, and you’ve straightened my hair pins on the vanity, and again over my afternoon coffee- the blend you smuggle me from the arch-druid. I get to choose you in the evenings when you sulk and are in a foul temper, and it is my choice- my pleasure to choose you again before I sleep." 

Jaina skimmed her hand, open palmed to the center of Sylvanas’s chest, where her tokens pulsed faintly over an old ragged scar. 

" _I chose you, Sylvanas Windrunner. You're mine._ " 

Sylvanas’s fingers found the corner of her jaw. Skimmed up to brush the metal through Jaina’s ear. Then tightened in her hair. Tugged. 

Jaina was too beguiled, to consider if it was a clever idea or not. Sylvanas’s eyes were wide and dilated, soft, her lips parted. It was too good, too sweet, too open. Alive, and wanting, and loving her. It was such a relief she could have wept. She leaned into the kiss, and because it seemed like a good thing, threaded a small skein of mana through the hand still against her chest. _A seal, a pact, an oath_. Sylvanas’s groan startled her and Jaina would have pulled away, but for the sudden force of Sylvanas’s hold. The thirst with which she kissed her. 

Jaina gasped, as Sylvanas pushed their foreheads together like she wanted to taste Jaina’s breath 

"You tamed an eldritch terror, and focused a mana storm to be by my side?" 

Jaina nodded, acutely aware of the sensation of Sylvanas deliberately drawing mana through her. She could have cut the line, ended the attunement. Easy. Instead, she fought to hold herself still. To do Sylvanas’s bidding. It was hard to be gentle when what she wanted was Sylvanas’s teeth against her collarbone and her fingernails scoring her back. Jaina managed, “"Mhm," 

The low velvet reply was devastating. “Such devotion.” 

“Yes.” She let Sylvanas hold her face, angle her chin aside and place small kisses behind her ear. She tried not to whine, “Devoted. Let me demonstrate my fealty.” 

Sylvanas groaned against her neck, a vibration that Jaina felt down through her spine as Sylvanas drank down her mana... But her grip only tightened in Jaina’s hair, effectively holding her in place. 

Jaina sighed, a small breath, “Allow me to show you the strength of my convictions.” 

Sylvanas tilted her head back again, peering into her face with a fox’s grin, “ Is this human courtly love- what a knight says to their queen?” 

“I wouldn't know. I've made a habit of spurning knights,” Jaina licked her lips, her voice raspy “and I've only ever loved one queen.” 

“You _bitch_ ” Sylvanas huffed, her voice breaking on the words, “I believe you. You're making me believe you.” 

Jaina allowed that perhaps they were having a hard time processing their emotional needs. The trauma of war and the history of their personal baggage. But if Sylvanas called her a bitch like that, one more time, she thought she might come without ever having being touched. 

“You brought my rangers through the battle... And you spoke to me, spoke in my tongue- like a Queen from the Old Songs..." 

She gentled her grasp, combing down through Jaina’s long unkempt hair. She skated over her shoulders, back and arms. As if ensuring that all of Jaina was there, that they both were there, “... you made a public declaration of love, and carried me from the field of battle like a conqueror.” 

“I didn’t carry you.” 

“Claiming me like that before my court was as good as.” 

“Oh.” Jaina flushed scarlet from her toes to the roots of her hair, “I’m- Sylvanas, I didn’t mean to embarrass you- I didn’t.” 

Sylvanas lay her cheek against Jaina’s, “It wasn’t embarrassing-” She guided Jaina’s hands up behind her to the head board, “-it was vindicating.” Her fingertips glided down Jaina’s arms, over her ribs and cupped the dip of Jaina’s waist. 

“I-’m glad.” 

“You’ll be more than glad.” She palmed Jaina’s hip, the barest indication of will. Jaina ached to obey. Didn’t. 

“You’re injured, Sylvanas.” 

“Not so very badly now. And,” She flicked her tongue against Jaina’s ear, “you’re already on your knees. You’ve earned my favor.” 

She shuddered, and shifted, a knee on either side of Sylvanas’s hips, but not touching. She couldn’t stomach the idea of putting weight on her. Of her body breaking. 

“Thats it.” Sylvanas encouraged, tracing a line of cold fire with her tongue down the open front of her tunic- “ _You were a beast, dear heart._ ” 

Jaina squeezed her eyelids lids shut. She couldn’t look down at Sylvanas’s face between her breasts, watch her eyelashes flutter against her skin, and keep her hands to herself. Her grip tightened on the headboard. If Sylvanas had been tentatively experimenting with drawing out her magic in previous encounters, she wasn’t hesitant now. It was a stroke, wet and warm and firm from her navel, southward. 

“ _...please..._ ” Jaina didn’t know what she was asking for. She thought she was going to cry. It was usually Sylvanas’s force, her passion and strength and tenacity that brought her to pieces. Her command, control and raw, ruthless power. _This..._ This was Jaina’s trick to pull on Sylvanas, and to have it turned back on her to such success was dizzying. 

“ _I saw you fight, for me and mine_ ,” Fingernails tracing burns down her neck, up her stomach as Jaina tensed, “ _Do you have any idea what that does to me?_ ” 

“ _Keeps you safe, My Queen_?” 

Sylvanas puffed a laugh, stirring the hair at Jaina’s temple, _“ Yes, Safe, and in the mood to tend to my-honored-bride.”_

Jaina kept her eyes closed, dropped her head. She allowed herself the vanity of rubbing the bridge of her nose along Sylvanas’s collar bone. In the dark behind her eyes, Sylvanas’s voice and touch were the keenest blades- honey knives flaying her heart wide. 

She hardly recognized her voice, it was so rough, “ You don’t have to, I only wanted to see you safe-” 

“ _Hush starlight,_ ” the press of nails in her shoulder made Jaina’s back arch, and the soothing slide of magic against her inner thighs made her wet, “ _Still your pretty tongue. You served me so, so well_. _Let me service you_.” 

Still, Jaina persisted, “ What if I hurt you-” 

Sylvanas purred another laugh, a swallow of magic that had Jaina snapping her teeth together just shy of Sylvanas’s ear. _You who assaulted the healers for winding my wrappings too tight?”_

Indignation had Jaina flushing again, but the feeling fled in the wake of what Sylvanas was doing to her. It was like her hands were everywhere, cupping her breasts, her rear, scraping lightly against her scalp. But nothing sharp, no brilliant pricks of pain or force, only smooth fluid softness. A tender, well stoked ache. 

“Sylvie, please.” Jaina’s arms shook, her knees wobbling despite the generous cushioning of the mattress. She wanted desperately to feel Sylvanas over her, to feel her powerful, rough strokes inside of her, to feel claimed, used and owned. This... “Please- more- I -” 

“As you wish,” Her mouth against Jaina’s ear, burning with magic, furiously gentle. Sylvanas was all soothing, measured light strokes, even as the way she worked mana through Jaina made the hair on the back of her arms stand on end and crackle with unspent energy. 

“I- Sylvie please-” White knuckled on the wood, Jaina sought her lips, desperate for a kiss. Jaina knew she was babbling, couldn’t care. Only wanted, “please- pin me, - _fuck me_ \- I want your nails in my back, your teeth at my throat- _Sylvanas_ -” 

She moaned, cut off as Sylvanas cupped her sex beneath her loosened leggings. 

“Shh, if its domination you crave, listen to me-” A sedate, perfect circle between her legs, “Slow your breath- I have you.” 

Sylvanas kissed her again, languid and hot, completely unhurried. Jaina keened, near distress, gasping, 

“I can't-” 

“ _Let go_.” 

Gentle fingers, and a steady, firm glide. 

Jaina shuddered, her back bowed, every muscle taught and straining. Once more, Sylvanas’s warm, silken entreaty, “ _You can do it, let go. That’s it my heart- I know you want to-- come for me._ ” 

Jaina wrenched a hand free to cover her mouth, choking back a sob. She did come. Not hard, or sudden, but warmly, slowly. Something she couldn’t escape from, a summoned thing from deep inside of her that couldn’t be denied. 

She cried out, and found Sylvanas’s mouth against her own, drinking down the sound as easily as she had her magic. She murmured soft nothings, half verses of poetry Jaina couldn’t follow as stars danced before her eyes. Light and impossibly weighted. She felt like the memory of spring, like the smell of summer rain. She kissed Sylvanas again. Stopped only to breathe. 

“ _Bright Lady,_ you’ve been up the night, sleep.” 

“Sylvanas-” 

“ _Please_.” 

A hand pressed firmly, possessively at the small of her back, and Jaina hesitated only a moment before it pushed more insistently. “ _Lay down my-one, I want to feel your heartbeat against my skin.”_

“Only for a moment,” Jaina relented, hardly feeling her limbs move at all, “I only meant to check on you- honestly, I didn’t mean-” 

“To be seduced?” 

“I was billed for the part of overprotective spouse. Not ardent suitor.” 

“You have ever been both, Jaina.” An edge of steel slipped into her tone, “ Now, it is my turn. Sleep.” 

Jaina did. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing explicit here- I mean that. This chapter is an edgy 'G' at best, and sweet enough to melt your teeth.

  
  
“I was billed for the part of overprotective spouse. Not ardent suitor.” 

“You have ever been both, Jaina.” An edge of steel slipped into her tone, “ Now, it is my turn. Sleep.” 

Jaina’s eyes closed.   
Sylvanas wiped a bead of sweat away from her temple. Stroked fingers through her hair. It did not take long for Jaina’s breathing to deepen and slow. Sylvanas supposed, that with Jaina sleeping, she should get up. There were, doubtlessly, hundreds of issues that needed her attention. _The logistical and practical needs of a crushed stadium_ _-_ _a_ _whole ward_ _of the city_ _in ruin_ _-_ _the_ _financial damage_ _to be_ _tallied, the_ _potential_ _casualties_ _and_ _innumerable_ _claims_ _.._ _._ But … Jaina had only just fallen asleep. _She has earned her rest._

_Her rest_ . The thought fell like a stone. Rest, a final rest that Jaina said she would rather defer. It wasn’t the first time she’d mentioned such nonsense , but it was the first time she had declared it so brazenly. _How had she_ _phrased it_ _?_ _“_ _I’m yours in death too”_ . The stone sank, a ripple of implication that started and ended with Jaina’s heartbeat against her chest. It should have brought waves of anxiety, aggression and bitterness . Or a persistent Melancholy drip that her future always seemed to include death and decay ... But, Sylvanas couldn’t muster it, much like she couldn’t muster the will to stand and attend to the problems of the day. She was too thoroughly charmed by the creature – _my wife_ \- content now to lie in her arms. 

She hadn’t recognized Jaina, at the last of it. In the thick of the fight, in the rain, and then the snow. It had only been the nauseating familiarity of rune magic, and the dead coveting her own. Her focus on war, how she could triumph; draw the dead away from her people- from her city, her soldiers. Sylvanas had been filled with spite, and of course rage. _One_ _can't_ _very well be a banshee without_ _it_ _._ When the death knights had arrived, and Anya and Lyana had followed her to the square with the wicker man , it had been sickening, bitter repetition . _As if the lords of fate wished to revisit a favored chapter._ Rage and pain, thick and hot and desperate scalded her clinical detachment. So much that all she wanted to do was scream. Scream. Keep screaming until there was nothing left. The only thing that kept her from shunting aside her body altogether had been her tokens. How they had jumped and thrummed along her scar, and seemed to goad her to endurance. It had been enough to steady her until a mob of ghouls had torn through Lyana’s arm. Until Anya had faltered with twin arrows pierced clean through her thigh. 

Then Sylvanas had thought there was a Lich Lord behind the massing dead; some great and godly foe, the ghouls and knights ahead of him as a vanguard. When fire had screamed through their lines, cutting her off, Sylvanas hadn’t thought- _well._ _I_ _hadn’t been thinking very clearly at all_ . Her focus had been on Anya, and Lyana , wounded - and how long the three of them could stand _._ _Not_ _long enough_. The only comfort, a cold one, was that this time their deaths wouldn’t be at her hand- and then the dead simply hadn’t been. Weren’t. Just tall ashy outlines, distorted on the rubble. While the rest of her rangers had flooded the square like spring runoff, Sylvanas had remained. Panic- the knifes edge of it twisting in her stomach, then flat against her throat, warring with relief. When the unseen threat didn’t land, she’d turned, ready to face that dense weight of approaching mana with bared teeth. 

Sylvanas brushed through Jaina’s hair again, a lazy, self-soothing action. She observed idlily, with weighty fondness, where the mana burns wove between and over Jaina’s freckles. _Waterater on the shore._ She wanted to skip her mouth over the surface of her arms, over her thighs again, but dismissed the urge. Mercurial. Jaina deserved the stillness, without Sylvanas pestering her for her own gratification. No matter how edifying it would be. 

It was hard to banish the image though- Sylvanas had always been drawn to Jaina, to her will and power. _Even_ _visiting_ _Quel’Thalas_ _th_ _at_ _first time_ _-_ _bookish, untried and reserved -_ _she’d held real_ _might_ _._ And by the sun, had Jaina looked powerful last night. Wild, more the aspect of a storm than a woman. Dress uniform torn open by battle, and her new robes of office ripped and swirling around her knees . High black boots caked in salt and blood . A slash of arcane – _of_ _force_ _-_ against the brumes smear of the harvest moon. She’d looked impossibly tall, broader, with her hair blown back and a ranger’s short sword wrapped in a fist of magic. Sylvanas had understood then, Whisperwind’s fervent devotion to a goddess. 

Jaina’s birthday was soon... would she want a temple? Foolish- _of course not_ , she’d hate it. _Burn it to the ground herself_.   
  
Jaina sighed in her sleep and pressed her face close against Sylvanas. The glow of the tokens bathed half her features in soft blue, a contrast to the weak glow of morning. _‘I_ _c_ _h_ _oose_ _you, Sylvanas_ _Windrunner_ _, you are mine’._ Old gods, how that shook her though. In her own tongue no less, a binding ritual as near as could be made without a priest. The magic that had blossomed in her after... Sylvanas didn’t have a name for it- nor a reference point in her libraries of epic poetry. Libraries kept strictly for their prestige as collector’s items, of course. _But w_ _hat to give this woman_...She came back around to the notion of deities and High Priestesses. In Sylvanas’s experience, goddesses demanded sacrifice, and she wasn’t sure what to put on the altar. Sylvanas could certainly do worse than to devote herself to her wife.   
No, no good- _not impressive enough_. It smacked of regifting. 

Sylvanas mulled this over, and as the sun crept two fingers past dawn, a soft tapping sounded at her door. She knew the tread that came with it. Different, but not dissimilar to the way she knew Jaina’s heartbeat against her ribs. 

“Anya. Come.”   


As Anya came on with no trace of previous injury, a guilt Sylvanas hadn’t known she was carrying eased. Anya looked clean, well. She had changed, and smelled faintly of the oils the rangers used to tend to their skin. Her shoulders were ridged though. _Strange_ . She held herself as if she thought the floor was likely to drop out from beneath her at any moment. _Small. Meek_. A marked difference from the woman who’d recently talked Jaina down from the heights of protective aggression- had persuaded her to leave Sylvanas’s side when an army of necromancers hadn’t phased her. 

Anya set down a small tray near the medicines; water, and some variety of meat pie that Jaina was fond of.   
“She didn’t eat last night. Flat refused.”   
Sylvanas answered wryly, “I’m not surprised.”   
“Nor am I, just hopeful.” Anya didn’t meet Sylvanas’s gaze, but adjusted the plate setting, folding a blue napkin and pushing back an errant pea with a silver fork. “It's her favorite,” she said lamely. “Maybe you can tempt her to it?”   
  
Anya lingered, the steam from the pie curling in the cold sun. It was still, only the counterpoint of Jaina’s breath, and their own tense bodies. Finally, she seemed to come to what she really wanted to say. _Any_ _a_ _always d_ _oes_. 

“I am your creature, Sylvanas... But I jumped at her command.”   


They both stared at Jaina a beat at that, and then, nearly in tandem to the plush fur balled in the window seat. Wordlessly, Anya retrieved it and folded it around Jaina and Sylvanas. 

She must have given Anya reason for this display in the past; for the cringing and cowering, must have pushed away with punishing cruelty from the vulnerability Anya exposed. _The season is about celebrating freedom_ . Sylvanas new full well that there was more than one kind of enslavement. It came in shades and bindings more numerous than the stars. Different scales and pedigrees. Jaina’s own comforting weight was more like an anchor to her than a shackle . . . In this context, on this morning, Sylvanas decided she wouldn't make Anya shy away . _Not_ _on purpose_ . She told herself that it would be wasteful. _An inexpert use of_ _resources_ \- to punish Anya now. No one had died a second time, and such devotion had its dividends. Sylvanas stroked Jaina’s cheek and said evenly, 

“Then it is well that her will is ever my own.”   
“But you _trusted_ me to keep her.” Anya ground her teeth, her hand twisting into a salute- _a_ _queen's’_ _g_ _uard_ _’s_ \- pledge, “I gave you my _word_.” 

_Anya and her honor._ Philia - _fondness_ _-_ sat on Sylvanas’s tongue, sweet enough to choke her. 

She swallowed.   
Anya stood awkwardly at the bedside waiting for the reprimand. Sylvanas didn’t deliver it. She was too busy trying not to focus on how utterly dejected Anya looked- and then was distracted by the slender branches twined around the collar of her shirt. _Thorn branches_ _._ _Why_ _?_ Her ranger shifted in anticipation, still waiting for the stinging reply. At length Anya started to leave, accepting the silence as punishment, but Sylvanas finally moved. She took Anya’s hand and the woman froze in surprise. But Anya’s hand hadn’t been the goal- _the sleeve_. The discolored thread felt fragile, ancient under Sylvanas’s fingertips- the way the words did leaving her lips.   
  
“ _Anya-friend-sister_ , she trusted you too, to keep me. You did.” 

Sylvanas imagined that the tighter she held that sleeve, the tighter she could hold the memory... In a waystation- _a Rangers Watch_ _-_ hemming clothes in the near darkness _._ _A summer squall-_ _Candlelight, wine, laughter_ . She ran her fingers over the stitches again- less than artistic, but confidant and not without charm _-_ _Void_ _\- are those_ my _stitches?_ Clumsy and worn shapes Sylvanas had thought at a distance were leaves but- _birds._

  
“And what a way to repay trust-” Anya said coldly, beginning to pull away, “ I went and got crushed under a building, you had to keep _me_. Wonderfully helpful, that.” 

_Birds_ ... Not any bird- _Shrike._

Pierced like small game on one of those thorns, Sylvanas tugged sharply on the sleeve to see it in full. Surprised, Anya half sat on the bed, catching herself from executing a full combat reflex. Closer now, Sylvanas spied holes from wear carefully patched, and repatched at the elbows and lacing. Adrenaline or maybe the fear tightening her scalp had her contemplating forcing Anya down to see the damned thing in its entirety. But no, she let go, abruptly changing tactics. Sylvanas didn’t _want_ to push her away after all. 

“Anya, my closet. A serviceable tunic please.” 

Anya’s brow lifted, but she obeyed, laying a soft cotton shirt on the bed within easy reach. “I did not think you’d feel the chill. But you are shirtless, for all you wear your wife. Shall I help you?” 

“No. On my bookshelf, there’s a cloth wrapped basket. Metal clasped lid.” She didn’t need to command it. 

When Anya returned with the middling sized basket, dawning horror- _no, affection_ _-_ pulled her eyebrows down and lifted her ears. 

“My Queen, don’t-”   
“Any why not? Isn’t it something we used to do?” Sylvans countered, gathering resolve, “... At a ranger station. On long patrol.” 

Anya sat, leadenly. Her legs folding beneath her like a hind stuck down on a hunt. She leaned on the headboard nearly shoulder to shoulder with Sylvanas, holding the basket in her lap like her life depended on it- a talisman-, her eyes huge and glassy as any doe’s. 

Sylvanas couldn’t stand it.   
She looked away, opened the basket and surveyed it. As she left it. _Impeccably organized and well stocked._ Well prepared, jealously kept, and not once used. She’d amend that now.   
  
“My household should be better dressed Anya. An oversight on my part- please select something in the interim.” Sylvanas inclined her head to the open armoire while she threaded a needle, “I warn you; the quality of my stitches may be diminished.” 

Anya carefully tucked a corner of the fur up around Jaina, her smile watery and wide enough to break Sylvanas’s heart. 

Anya did as she was bid. “It could hardly be much worse.” 

“Is that a challenge?” 

The banter almost felt natural _._ There was still a resistance, like the tensile strength of fabric resisting a needle point. Never the less, Sylvanas passed the thread through the shirt, fine, neat rows- _links_ \- as Anya settled back against her.   
  
Another nock. Another step. She knew both. 

“Come.” 

Lyana slipped in and closed the door quietly. She didn’t raise her head, chin low, ears lower. 

“I came to seek pardon for abandoning my post.” 

“You too?” Sylvanas paused. She couldn’t look up. Refused. She carefully untangled a knot that had already managed to form, counting her stitches back, “It seems I have a rash of defectors.” 

  
“Forgive me- I. What?” Lyana’s head jerked, and she caught sight of Anya. Her submission evaporated, replaced with alacrity and mild irritation, “You would get here first.” 

At that, Sylvanas did glance up, and she found herself eying the cuffs and collar of Lyana’s shirt with interest _._ _There_ . Small teeth, _incisors_ , red and black paw prints half unraveled around the eyelets of laces. Lynx- _no_ _-_ Springpaw. Sylvanas had never noticed such things before. _Or have_ _I_ _dismissed_ _it_ _out of_ _hand?_ Sylvanas was about to make a comment when another nock rapped out. _Whoever is_ _on_ _watch must be_ _feeling generous_ _._

“Enter,” Sylvanas and Anya said in time. 

“Dark Lady,” The door swung open, revealing Velonara, Alina, and Loralyn, “we came to you as soon as the apothecary cleared us- oh.” 

Velonara colored slightly, a feat that Sylvanas wasn’t sure how she accomplished.The ranger glanced between Anya, Lyana, and Sylvanas, and then rubbed anxiously at her neck. Sylvanas watched her hand brush the fabric. Weathered, round, black-capped birds flocked on the linen through mathematically positioned snowflakes. _Mine- my stitches-_

And there were more too, little wyrms chasing Alina’s buttons, and foxgloves tangled in Loralyn’s belt loops. A signature in thread. 

Their clothes seemed matched, a set, and it alarmed her _._ Were these clothes set aside in a fit of joint sentimentality, or worse- _kept and worn to mark occasions even after these_ _many_ _years?_ It itched, like a scab. Infected, or half healed, Sylvanas couldn’t say. 

Memoires, more of them, water rushing through a sluice gate to drown her; women, maybe sisters making flower crowns- perhaps a boy playing music while she danced? It was so distant; she couldn’t be sure. The lack of certainty riled her. It made her want to hiss, to claw and growl, to feel flesh give under her teeth. Violence to drown the cognitive dissonance. Beside her, Anya tensed. _My Shrike_. Sylvanas blinked, relaxing her grip before she could bend the needle. 

“I see we’re late.” Velonara offered when Sylvanas didn’t speak. 

This, right now, Sylvanas decided, she could be sure of. She didn’t have to be powerless. She could dismiss the shades of the past with this- or at the very least suture the shadows to the present. _It_ _will have to do_ _._

“ _Chickadee_ .” Sylvanas said it slowly, evenly. A test in syllables . “ _Springpaw_ _. Fox. Adder._ ” 

The response was immediate, endearing. Ears up, angled eyebrows, heads slightly to the side. Even Lyana who wore disinterest and sarcasm as armor seemed stripped bare. _Hopeful_ _._

  
Sylvanas returned to her needle work, pulling another long loop of colour through. 

  
“Not so much late as you are poorly dressed. Closet,” She indicated Lyana as well, “the four of you.” 

When it came to it, Sylvanas had to explain very little of what she wanted, and for that she was grateful. The four had made themselves comfortable when another ranger, Lenara, arrived. She was folded in without incident. Welcomed. After that, more followed the same way; Zanra, Clea, Denyelle, Marrah and Cyndia. Even Thyala, who so often kept only her own company after her ordeal in Gilneas. Thyala had whispered a greeting, and chose her spot, distant and drawn in on herself. Soon though, she found her way onto the lounge next to Zanra; her head resting on the younger woman’s thighs, eyes comfortably closed as Denyelle fussed over what patterns to sew into her cuffs. It struck Sylvanas that after a few exchanges with her fellows, Thyala’s reserve fled. She’d let her cloak fall back- _Unheard of_ _-_ exposing the ropey starburst scars the mastiff's teeth had left, despite Sylvanas’s healers’ best efforts. She changed her garments too, and Sylvanas wondered if she had enough in her closet to outfit them all. With a jolt, she realized that she would call for a clothier immediately if the issue presented itself. 

It filled Sylvanas with an animal satisfaction that they all looked the same- in her colors, even if the fit wasn't exact. _We match_ _._ Her people were here, marked by her- were in her clothes, stitching small pictures into each other’s wrists and throats and breast pockets. She had Jaina, safe , cherished and with such open trust it was nearly caustic. Everyone looked and felt and smelt like _home_. 

Then, sound. 

Soft trail songs. Moth wings of melody fluttering against the stone walls. Only a slight humming at first. Hesitant, as if fearful of Sylvanas’s censure. But Cyndia’s sweet soprano and Lenara’s rich alto seemed too ethereal to chastise. So, Sylvanas didn’t. Gentle harmonies unspooled, melodies passed between soldiers and their seams. The sounds belonged in shaded woods, but they were not so out of place, here, now. Sylvanas lay calmly in the center, Jaina draped over her, as her rangers sprawled at the edges or across the furniture that had been brought and pressed as close to the massive bed as carpentry would allow. One platform of limbs and ears and a mess of vivid thread. 

Sylvanas allowed herself to listen, to drift, and bask. The safety afforded by such a gathering was rare, and Jaina’s magic was pervasive; unconscious, she continued to emanate mana. The air seemed thick with it, rich like sun warmed moss. It made everyone feel pleasantly drunk- almost warm. Sylvanas indulged in more pastoral half memories, impressions rather than clear pictures. _Swiftsure mounts- warm animal_ _s_ _and_ _cold_ _mountain water. Sea_ _breeze_ _s_ _\- cotton, leather, iced hibiscus tea. Sun warmed skin and salt-_

  
A knock roused her, startling the song too, and the music scattered as a second knock came close behind. Then a more urgent pounding. 

“Dark Lady?” Vorel’s voice held a sour note of worry, _out of character_ , making Loralyn’s head whip round. 

“I was supposed to go to her when I found Velonara” Loralyn whispered, heartsore and starting to stand, despite sounds of protest, “Lyana, I’m sorry-”   
“May I have a word?” Vorel’s voice rose, “ _Ranger_ _General_ _,_ I can’t find-”   
“Come in, sweetheart, we’re here.” Velonara exchanged an anxious look with Lyana as the door fairly flew open. 

“Vel? Is that you? I couldn’t find you at the infirmary, and I haven't seen Lyana since the burning and -” her words trailed off. Confusion, then anger, and relief flashing across her face, “The pair of you will kill me.” Vorel’s eyes locked with Sylvanas’s “What possessed you to bless this? To think I could manage two?” She sagged against the door frame, “They’ll be the death of me, truly, Lady.” 

Lyana’s usually reserved face shifted as she raised the shirt she was working on; a gorgeous marvel of stitches, her morning’s work, more paint on canvas than thread. She angled it towards Vorel. 

“It's the boar and laurels,” she described needlessly, “Your family crest.”   
Velonara lifted the opposite sleeve of the same shirt where she was still working, “Mine too.”   
What little stoicism remaining to Lyana broke into a grin. Sweet and doting, delighted beyond measure. "Her crest? My heart, that’s a fat piglet on a stump.” 

Velonara didn’t seem hurt, if anything she smiled more brightly, “Yes.” She agreed willingly, offering a view to Sylvanas, “It is rather cute though.”   
Sylvanas inclined her head judiciously. Her tongue felt thick and clumsy behind her teeth. “Very... pink.” 

Sylvanas returned to where Vorel stood, frozen by the tableau. Her hand had crept from the latch to cover her mouth. Her short bob swayed, hiding the cut of her strong jaw as she wrestled with her words, “ _Sylvanas_ \- I, em, Dark Lady, I-” 

_Boar- a hunt_ _._ Ivy _._ _The_ _Scent_ _of hounds_ _;_ _blood on_ _crushed leaves_ _._ _A brash_ _laugh, a spear with a spiked cross guard_ _._ Hands _._ _Mine,_ _smaller in hers_ _\- guided-_ _showing me where to cut_ _._ Viscera _.--_ _a friend of my mother’s-_

“- Come in. Don’t stand by the door.” Sylvanas swallowed, her chest heavier than arrow wounds alone allowed for, “Your girls might desert in earnest if I deny your entry.”   
Loralyn shifted slightly, making room where there was precious little space left on the bed, “Here, ‘Rel, I saved you some purple thread- I know it's your favorite.”   
“Your priorities.” Vorel said it like she couldn’t decide which was worse, her _sister-friend_ or her _t_ _win-flame-_ _partners_ , but she slid into place regardless.   
  
At noon, Kilaria knocked, the rap of her knuckles clipped like her tone.   
“ Warchief, I have reports.”   
“Leave them on the desk,” Sylvanas said, knotting off the piece she was working. Anya appraised the spartan but graceful rendering of a bird in a thorn tree, then pressed her forehead against Sylvanas’s bare shoulder. Sylvanas continued, and it sounded like her voice came from miles away, from a century away, “The Warchief isn’t here.” 

On the other side of the door, Kilaria sputtered, “ _My-General_?”   
“Maybe,” Sylvanas answered dryly, reaching for the next tunic, “Why don’t you come and see?”   
Kilaria fell in too, absorbed, mild complaints about being forgotten that the others washed away with soft touch and softer words. At the foot of the bed she hesitated still, wrapping and unwrapping green thread around her thumb. 

“Wont we wake her?” Kilaria moved carefully, everyone did, around Jaina sleeping in Sylvanas’s arms. Jaina for her part, remained half on Sylvanas’s chest, her breath occasionally stirring her riotous silvery hair.   
“Not unless I’m very much mistaken.” Sylvanas fondly smoothed down one of Jaina’s small, strange eyebrows, “It would take the tower crumbling to wake her now.”   
“Or a flintlock to your head.” Loralyn quipped. 

“Or a flintlock.” Sylvanas agreed, “She’s funny that way.” 

Zanra, searching for pillows, found a gaming set tucked away in a chest, and it wasn’t long before they needed to be used. Velonara, finally finished with her ‘boar’, propped her chin on one elbow, her legs crossed over Vorel’s lap. She considered Jaina’s prone form 

For one of the most shrewd and cunning of her flight, Velonara was often the softest. The sweetest. First to return with game, and first to split it evenly. The most eager to please Sylvanas- the easiest for her to hurt. 

“Her birthday is coming up. Humans like those, birthdays.” Velonara fingered a small, four stranded braid Alina had wound into Jaina’s hair earlier, to keep it’s bulk from smothering her, “Gifts are the correct custom, aren’t they? What should we get her?” 

Sylvanas sighed. “I don’t know. She wants for so little.” 

Another nock. Sure. _Commanding._ Sylvanas, and her whole lot, responded immediately to the eldest’s rapport _. My Captain_. 

“Ranger-General,” Areiel sounded resigned, and she didn’t wait for an answer as she shouldered the door open, her arms full of a burlap wrapped bundle. She surveyed the scene with a detached condescension, “You should know, My Queen, that none of Our rangers reported for debriefing.”   
“Except me.” Kilaria was quick to point out, looking up from the plait she’d made in Cyndia’s hair.   
“You, pup?” Areiel’s brusque tone held no real venom, “We ordered you to return after getting a signature. Hours ago.” She pivoted towards the yawning fire place, stepping with ease over her sprawling soldiers. She set her burden down on the stone, the corners of cut wood clattering dully as they escaped the wrapping. 

“And you,” Areiel continued her dressing down, fixing Sylvanas a glare over her shoulder as she set the fireplace, “All these hands around You, and yet still no command for a fire. What a Queenly hearth.” 

And then, in halting common, “ _Ou_ _-r-n-_ _iece_ _, will catch cold_ _._ ” 

Sylvanas was stunned enough to open her mouth. And then close it. Several times. She could not recall Areiel speaking common. _Not once_ . Not when Areiel had been part of Li reesa Windrunner’s legion and dealt directly with human factions , and not when she’d been handpicked for Sylvanas’s first command. Not w hen she repaired her relationship with Nathanos . Not even at her bitter meeting with Feathermoon and Keeshan. _Our ni_ _e_ _ce._ Certain and with that un shakable and possessi ve plural pronoun, as if Areiel was capable of anything less . _When had that_ _happened_ ? Was it another thing Sylvanas hadn’t seen in her own people, more of the past worn on their chests just waiting to be seen? Sylvanas dipped her chin down to Jaina as if she’d wake and give an answer. Then she frowned. Though Jaina wasn’t shivering, little white clouds like winterveil ornaments hung in trails to the ceiling. It seemed bad form to make an event of Areiel’s common, when Sylvanas had neglected a very basic aspect of spousal care for the living. 

_The temple will have to have heating_ _glyphs_ _..._

The fire sparked to life a beat later, and the creeping shadows of afternoon were banished. Areiel stood and brushed off her knees. She glanced at the door uncertainly, but Lenara and Clea had already slid out of the armchair in invitation, and Marrah was dealing another hand. Denyelle flashed a fanged smirk over her cards, ears fanning back in a mock challenge. 

Cards. _W_ _agers-_ _acorn caps and candied fruit- a rabbit on a spit-_ Thyme. Wild basil. - _many shoulders under one blanket_ \- 

“Stay a while,” Sylvanas suggested, “Take bets on who comes calling next.” 

Areiel grunted, but did take the chair. She pulled loose a brilliant snarl of embroidery thread from the cushion first, attending to it as if she didn’t want it to go unaccounted for. She handed it off. Velonara pushed a long, brushed black tunic her way. Then Kilaria indicated with pride a garish owl, missing one eye. Areiel relented. Allowed herself to be changed. She said more fluidly in her own tongue “Two gold Dinar next is Wolf-Hound.” 

The next caller was almost a surprise, but then again, Sylvanas hadn’t expected Thyala, so Thandel shouldn’t have given her pause. He knocked so carefully, his tenor voice equally measured, “My Queen, Ladies, may we enter?” 

“We?” Vorel asked loudly, raising her head from the heap of Lyana and Velonara’s arms. 

“Aye ‘we’, or did you hope the Death Knights finally got me?” Nathanos toed the door open and strode in. 

Thandel stood a little awkwardly between the door and the foot of the bed. His long fingers were wrapped around the neck of a lute, held close to his body. A pang of loss echoed through Sylvanas as he shifted and the strings gave half voice. She had found so, so few of her male Farstriders. _So_ _few had wanted to return_ . S ylvanas could almost recall the cedar of their campfires, their taste for fine wine, finer music- comradery belying their deadly bows and knives. _Almost._

“I thought, if everyone were- and since its Hallow's End,” Thandel stumbled over his tongue, held the lute out to her like it was an offering- or maybe something that, at Sylvanas’s command, would turn into a serpent in his grasp, “Maybe... like we used to?” 

The sight of him like that reminded her of a shorter man- _not a man,_ a boy _, golden hair curling in the sun, necklaces; green and red and blue-_ all glittering in the summer. Dancing, and a voice, her brother’s- _Lirath_ _?_

Beside her, Anya gripped Sylvanas’s arm, drawing her back, “ Thandel! _Little-lark_ , where did you find those strings?” 

Over her cards, Areiel gestured for Marrah to pay up, but she only tossed one gold piece, indicating Thandel as he crossed to chat with Anya. Areiel glowered, but lay down her cards with a flourish. She smiled wolfishly as she collected a mound of odd trinkets and coins from the center of their circle. Marrah rolled her eyes and Denyelle reshuffled despite tisks and grunts of annoyance. 

  
Sylvanas watched Nathanos set his bag down on the unoccupied window seat. She could make out the shapes in against the thin canvas, the bulk of feathers- a few knives, a whet stone and a flat surface. _He’ll start fletching while we sew._ How terribly tawdry _. How perfectly normal_. She felt the rhythm of that, an old joke that he couldn’t sew. _Hi_ _s clothes always_ _did have rips,_ _ungain_ _ly rop_ _e_ _y repairs...he never admitted it or asked for help_ _._ _Clea_ _h_ _a_ _d_ _him_ _take kitchen duty-double_ _d_ _to trade_ _labor_ _...._ Sylvanas couldn’t quite remember how the punchline went, but if Nathanos did, she didn’t begrudge him. 

He offered her an almost nervous expression, and extended his arm over the sea of rangers, to deposited something in Sylvanas’s hand. 

“I promised one of the young ones I’d give it to you. Personally. Made it himself.” 

It was a crude thing. A rough carving of a ‘figure’ on a ‘horse’. The rider's ears were crooked, one of the horse's legs too small, and the symbol on the side was near illegible. Near, but not quite. _Windrunner_ _._ It was the ugliest thing she’d ever seen. _Hideous_. She loved it. 

Sylvanas nodded sagely, more to keep herself from expressing an undignified emotion than anything else. She paused, handing it back to him quickly, as if it scalded. “Will you put it on my desk?”   
Nathanos cleared his throat, his voice oddly tight, “I’ll tell him you like it.”   
When he returned, Sylvanas traced his, and then Thandel’s shape. Considered. _I_ _will_ _have_ _a_ matching _set_ _._

“I don’t think anything in my wardrobe will do for you gentlemen. Anya- do you think, the chest from the spire would serve?” 

Sylvanas had recovered clothes, among many other things besides, when she started her repairs to the spire. She hadn’t had the fortitude to discard what she ought to have. Now, it seemed it would be useful. Anya quickly passed an appraising hand in measurement across Thandel’s chest and then thumbed out Nathanos at a distance. 

“Your father’s would do.” 

Sylvanas gave Nathanos a smile, all teeth and kinship, “Rich - you'll finally match the part you insist upon playing.”   
The trunk was hauled out from beneath the bed, and after much fuss and delight, a fit was found for Thandel, slightly too tight, and for Nathanos, slightly too long. Another knot inside Sylvanas’s chest loosened. 

_This is no different than a training day- a field exercise._ All we ll-knit teams, deadly tasks forces, required group adhesion _._ _That’s all this is_ _. And_ _it will be over soon._

The afternoon was whiled away. Evening unspooled before her and there wasn’t a need that Sylvanas could think of that would send them from her chambers. Worse, she didn’t _want_ them to leave. She would have suggested calling for wine and meat for the novelty, but she thought it might insult those who weren't be able to taste it. _Perhaps it_ _’_ _s for the best_ _though_. The day spent curled around Jaina had them all glassy eyed, and their tongues loosened. Less inhibited, they’d pulled out every blanket in her private chambers, and made a royal sty of her apartments. Thread and bodies, blankets, pillows and playing cards. Sylvanas rubbed her wife’s back absently. Jaina still hadn’t moved more than an inch, and hadn’t been disturbed by the comings and goings or antics of the day. She lay serenely, occasionally huffing, or pressing her face closer against Sylvanas. Elves were profoundly tactile creatures, and Sylvanas appreciated the respect her flight of rangers showed Jaina. The occasional brush, or press of forehead, brief social contacts and acknowledgements made Jaina more of a cared for participant than some foreign object or possession. Leaving Jaina out would have been cruel, from their perspective, but anything more would have crossed their dearly held lines of consent. 

Thandel and Cyndia sang by the fire, Thyala at hand to tend the blaze; the others were drowsing, stitching, and telling tales, or alternating between the three, when the next knock sounded. Sylvanas really was at a loss as to who it could be. 

Almost involuntarily, Kilaria had stiffened moments before the sound. At the end of the bed she squared her shoulders, wound and ready to pounce, given the command. Every one stilled, suddenly bristling, overprotective and unsure. But Lyana seemed unbothered. She craned her head back, relaxed, to catch Sylvanas’s gaze. Her eyebrow twitched up, a tell, and Sylvanas dropped her eyes to where Anya was stretched out beside her. _Someone they must know._

“Grand Admiral? My Lady Sea, I have come to give my thanks.” 

_Ah. The champion_.   
  
Anya studiously did not make eye contact with Sylvanas, but her feet flexed, a sure sign of reaction. _But what kind_ _?_ Sylvanas nudged her,and Anya rolled on to her belly, draping an arm around Sylvanas’s middle. She hid her face briefly against Jaina’s fur covered shoulder and whispered something fiercely into her hair. When no response was forthcoming, save a faint move to lean into the contact, Anya lifted her head away and looked up at Sylvanas through her bangs. The soft tips of her ears brushed Sylvanas’s under arm. 

“Our Lady, she’s indisposed. General, what should I say?”   
Anya picked at her fingernails, toyed with the bed spread. 

Sylvanas brushed her cheek, searching, “I’ll send her away if she truly bothers you so-”   
“No.” Anya sucked a sharp breath, hissed it out through her teeth. “It's not _that_ -.” 

“Lord Drake Slayer? Your Chamberlain sent me on up. If you’re-” 

_Chamberlain? When did we get a Chamberlain?_   
“-She’s sleeping.” 

Sylvanas answered quietly, quietly enough to hear the rush of breath on the other side. She watched Anya carefully, as she continued “If you’ve a message, or some gift, you are welcome to leave it with me, _Wife’s-Champion-Esteemed-shield_. I’ll ensure she receives it.”   
  
_Brisyn_ _is_ _an elf, she would have heard us- known Jaina w_ _as entertaining before she knocked_. She granted, that Brisyn hadn’t counted on Jaina being unconscious. Sylvanas was curious what the spellbreaker would choose   
  
“Of course, Warchief.” A beat of hesitation, then, “Now?” 

Sylvanas watched the way Anya swallowed nervously, throat bracketed by her own embroidery. 

“At your convenience.” 

She opened the door. 

“Oh.” 

  
To the woman’s credit, she didn’t flinch when she saw the extent, and state of the gathering. Nor did she pause for too long to get her bearings. _Was that a flash of jealousy?_ _Strange_. Brisyn’s mouth pursed a moment. She held herself with a soldier steadiness, as if she wanted to spring, but curbed the impulse. Then she clicked her heels together, and nodded sharply. A smart salute, though her hands were full. Sylvanas recognized Jaina’s saber, retrieved from the harbor fortressed, cleaned and in a new scabbard, the red silk sash and the blue gold tassels swinging as Brisyn calculated her next move. She squared her shoulders, adjusting a brown wrapped parcel under one arm, and a small wicker basket dangling off the hook of the opposite elbow. 

Brisyn opened her mouth, and began her address. A formal address, and Sylvanas was as surprised as she was impressed. Once Brisyn had started, she didn’t stop. She did it properly, thoroughly. _The old way_. Starting from the lowest ranking ranger, their titles, and working her way up. _Almost like she care_ _s_. Sylvanas couldn’t remember the last time a living soldier cared to notice such things. _The novelty._   


“...and Wolf of West Wood, Ranger Lord Nathanos, ” Brisyn neared the end of her litany, “And You-”   


Sylvana suddenly didn’t want to hear those names. 

“I’ve done away with titles for today, Brisyn Storm-Shield,” Sylvanas spread a hand indicating the general informality of the room, “Pray, do the same.” 

Brisyn cleared her throat, “Very well, My Lady.” Her mouth twisted, uncomfortable with shift in procedure, as if abandoning it pained her. It reminded Sylvanas of Liadrin- _are all Blood Knights like this_ _naturally_ _, or is it something drilled into them_ _specially_ _._

Habit seemed to be part of it- if Sylvanas was any judge. She watched as the soldier corrected her course and chose her path for the second time. Sylvanas was startled then to see faint spiraling burns over Brisyn’s jaw, extending down her throat.. Involuntarily, Sylvanas looked to Jaina’s hand, splayed beside her, and traced the same burns. _Oh, Jaina, what did you do?_

_“_ The Grand Admiral’s sword” Brisyn held it out, falling into a bow, but the basket at her elbow slipped. It jarred her wrist, and she fumbled, then moved to catch the parcel slipping out from beneath her arm. The sword rapped out against the open door, and Brisyn winced. A sound more of concealed pain, than embarrassment . Sylvanas saw now that Brisyn’s uniform wasn’t as neat as she’d thought in the firelight. It looked like her parade uniform- hastily spelled clean, and across her midsection, beneath her sash, peaked the white gauze of field dressing _._ _Any_ _champion_ _of Jaina’s_ _would have_ _to be a_ _martyr_ _._

Bryson corrected herself slowly, but her ears burned as red as her uniform. Then they flattened back sharply, stirring her short hair as the nearest rangers snickered. Nathanos shot the culprits a level look over his lap of feathers and shavings and the sound stopped. The markings stood out more prominently now, silver-white against Brisyn’s blushed cheeks. Irrationally, it made Sylvanas fonder of the girl. The visual connection to Jaina, like some stamp of approval. 

More gracefully, Brisyn took the slightly crushed package out from under her arm and placed the basket at her feet, carefully sliding it behind her, away to the outer room. She glanced around suddenly unsure. There wasn’t a clearly uncluttered or unclaimed surface in the room for her to place the objects. She gave Sylvanas a furtive look, holding them out.   
  
“Her ladyship’s sword, and a pair of new gloves. I- I think I ruined hers. I can't recall.”   


Vorel, half draped over Lyana’s back put a protective hand against the turn of Jaina’s exposed ankle. Her voice was more than a little frosted, her choice of the common tongue smearing the words further.   
“Can't recall? Some ‘Brigadier-General’.” 

There was challenge there, blatant insinuation. A jockeying for position and favor between two different hierarchies. Vorel’s body language and intonation couldn’t have been more direct. _You might be good enough for the Navy-_ _for_ _Jaina,_ _-_ she implied- _but only when ‘_ we’ _are not there_. Vorel meant, _you are young, soft, alive_. She didn’t have to say it. Her narrowed eyes and fingers hardly touching Jaina said it for her. 

Watching her, Sylvanas was reminded of a lion, its tail switching before ripping into an enemy. Brison raised her lip, an instant of flashing fang, and then calm mastery as if the expression might never have happened.   


“Forgive my laps, _Honored_ _-Elder,_ ” Brisyn said without a trace of penance, “I was... mortally wounded, at the time.” 

Sylvanas did her best not to snort _. The boldness_ . She was a partially torn ; it would be entertaining and informative to see who else would have a go at the knight, to see who would posture and defend her wife. But it wouldn’t do to undermine Jaina’s military structure- wouldn’t do to shame one so obviously well proven. One willing to walk into the lynx’s den to deliver a ceremonial sword. _Better to bring them in. To bind them closer_. Beside her, Sylvanas noticed that Anya was tense, her eyes keenly focused on the bandages that seemed hastily wrapped. Anya’s fingers twitched again, and Sylvanas didn’t betray her surprise to feel them slide between and tighten around her own. 

Velonara placed a placating hand on Vorel’s shoulder, and Lyana propped her chin in her hand, morbidly curious.   
“At the time?”   
Brisyn inclined her head towards Jaina as if that were a reasonable explanation.   
“As you can see I... I got better.” She gestured with the sword and wrapped gloves again. 

The scabbard’s gold thread glittered in the low light _._ _Expensive_. Sylvanas eyed the gloves, peeking out of the slightly crushed box. Her features pursed. _Very expensive_. Likely most of Brisyn’s salary. _A statement._ If Sylvanas hadn’t already concluded her courtship, a gift like that would have at best annoyed her, at worst provoked her full ire. Another elf, a living elf giving Jaina favors-   
But Brisyn wasn’t really looking at Jaina. _At me?_ That brief flash of covetous envy again, before composure. 

Brisyn did her best to save face, “Where should I place these?”   
  
Thyala stood. Her shadow, so close to the hearth was a hulking thing. It swept darkly over the room and climbed up Brisyn’s body- stopping at her bandaged waist.   
Her voice was a rasp, a worn sound apothecaries hadn’t been able to restore, “Go to a healer.” She crossed, her shadow receding as she wove her way over.   
“With respect, Equerry, I’ve already been-”   
“Equerry?” Thyala repeated, “I haven’t been called that since-”   
Thyala turned, looking to Areiel who responded with suspicion, “Since before the second war.”   
  
If possible, Brisyn’s stance became more stilted, a painful tension. “I had heard you were Master of the Horse.” 

Thyala’s thin, scarred lips parted, “You’re not wrong- _were_. Horses haven’t the temperament for dead riders.”   
“I beg your pardon,” Brisyn carefully placed the gifts on the floor _. A sign of respect_ \- A member of the queen’s court wouldn’t take such things with her own hands- not in old Quel’Thalas. What was Brisyn’s game. _A_ _sin’dore_ _playing at being_ _a_ _forsaken_ _highborn noble_ _?_ No, that didn’t fit, didn’t match the soldier resolutely refusing to be baited into conflict. _Performative?_ Certainly. _To what end?_

“I didn’t mean to offend.” Brisyn bowed once more, clearly ready to leave the viper's nest.   
“Facts aren’t offensive.” Thyala countered. Then she read Brisyn, as easily she would any animal in her stable, “What are you hiding in that basket?”   
  
Briysn, who had discreetly slid the thing further away as she bowed, stopped. Cleared her throat. 

“I have other errands to run,” Brisyn evaded, “If I might beg my leave?”   
More than a dozen sets of glowing eyes fixed on her. 

Again it was Lyana, one of the rangers more familiar with Brisyn, who spoke. Her nostrils flared slightly, and then, with acute curiosity, “Where are you going, late in the evening, wounded... and with a basket of...” another delicate sniff, then with furrowed brows, “ Fruit?”   
  


Brisyn’s eyes widened slightly, cutting sharply to Sylvanas. _No, not to me_.   
Anya.   
  
Sylvanas could have cursed herself stupid in twelve different tongues. _Of_ _course_. Of course, Jaina’s champion, perfectly principled _-_ _crippled with honor_ _-_ would appeal to Anya. With her attention to detail, and battle prowess, not to mention Jaina’s trust. Of Course. _A_ _story_ _book knight with undying loyalty to_ _my wife_ _. I_ _deal_ _for her_ _._   
And why shouldn’t Anya follow her mistress’s example and return the advances of living woman with ideas of grandeur?   
One who appeared to be genuinely interested. _Had taken the time to learn our names, and follow our customs._ The elaborate gifts for Jaina were dual in purpose- gratitude, yes, but _status_. Proof of merit and skill- displaying one’s means. A terribly clever idea when Sylvanas thought about it. To appeal to Jaina’s sentimentality, and Sylvanas’s own more traditional tastes. _Especially if she_ _’_ _s worried about something as trivial as gaining approval._ Something she’d likely hoped to do, with Sylvanas and Jaina, and perhaps only Anya present. 

Instead, she stood there stoically while Sylvanas indulged in a mockery of a family reunion. Sylvanas’s mouth curled upward- _Oh, poor dear_ _\--_ A near gleeful wince as Brisyn managed to flush a deeper shade 

_What must_ _she_ _be thinking, standing there in the doorway_ _?_ The idea of an interview with Jaina’s family made her own hackles rise. Stirred.. sympathy. 

  
She apparently wasn’t the only one feeling that way. 

Loralyn scrutinized Brisyn, “Did those priests treat you properly?”   
Lyana looked annoyed having been diverted, but Brisyn seemed infinitely relived for the change of subject.   
“They did their best, m’am,” Her stance eased, a hand creeping involuntarily toward her lower back, “But you know how spellbreakers are.”   
“Thick-skulled?” Areiel offered, a tirade she was familiar with, “Pig-headed, holier than thou, recalcitrant-”   
“-Resilient.” Velonara suggested, shooting Areiel a fond frown. “If you don’t mind the touch of death, Loralyn is skilled with herbs-.”   
“So am I,” Anya interjected, her jaw tense, bristling. 

The weight of the ranger's eyes shifted to her. 

“I don’t trust the field medics either.” Anya finished, as if the declaration was enough to explain the set of her ears, or the restless tremor in her fingers. The other rangers caught it like blood on the wind. Vorel’s shoulders relaxed, and Kilaria reclined against a bed post. 

Surprised at the turn of events, and rapid change of posturing, Brisyn wasn’t sure whether to defend her fellows, or allow the attention. 

“They do their best,” she repeated, “It was about a foot of glaive, and Lady Jaina had- well, I’m not sure, so under the circumstances-” 

  
“-A foot?”   
“She did what?”   
“-on the beach?”   
  
Thyala raised a hand, before Sylvanas thought to call off the clamour. Her inviting expression warmed the chill of her voice, “A trade. Anya will tend that wound- I can smell it festering.” 

Brisyn frowned. “A trade?”   
Thyala nodded.   
“Tell us,” Nathanos continued for her, “How I came to find you and Your Lady scaling that wall, the dead chewing at your ankles.” 

Anya had already risen from the bed and was sorting through the jars and vials on the side table. Setting aside what might be suitable to be used on a living patient. Thyala gestured Brisyn back towards the hearth, and Clea gave up her seat, to afford Brisyn a place by the fire. After Brisyn had indicated her acceptance, Clea helped her undo the buttons and fastenings of her jacket. Anya glanced distractedly from the bottles and drawer contents to watch her progress. Sylvanas motioned to the plate set aside for Jaina, and then to Brisyn. Anya looked like she would have protested, but Sylvanas turned away before she had the chance to refuse. _Jaina would have insisted._ She felt it right her wishes be represented.   
  
Thandel watched Brisyn too from the opposite seat, the lute liquid and glassy in his lap. Like all the rangers, he had a preternatural stillness, doubly so when he was interested in something new. 

He cocked his head to the side. “How old are you, Knight?”   
Brisyn winced as Clea pulled aside her coat, the slick sound of it parting from her back suddenly loud in the quiet room. Almost sympathetically Cyndia handed off the plate to her.   
Brisyn held it a little too tightly before she recovered. 

She shrugged her shoulders in her blood stained tunic, “300, give or take a few decades.” 

A handful short sounds. Dismissal, excitement, derision and surprise. Denyelle snorted, elbowing Marrah and Zenara rolled her eyes at them.   
Mirth lifted the corners of Thandel’s eyes, and he strummed happily, “Ah. So, I’m no longer the youngest. Finally.”   
Brisyn blinked, and then exhaled through her teeth, as Anya knelt behind her to attend the damage. Clea brushed Anya’s hand as they worked the shirt over Brisyn’s head, “I didn’t take you for a cradle robber,” she teased, half a whistle, “But I cant say I blame you-   


Anya started to hiss, hands tense over the soiled dressings, but Nathanos cut in once more.   
“-Your story, Champion.”   
  
Sylvanas closed her eyes against the scene. Brisyn had a good voice, told her story well. But Sylvanas stopped listening. Held Jaina. Counted the vertebrae of her neck, her spine. Traced her scapula and the curving lines of her muscled back. Pressed her nose into the crown of Jaina’s head. She let everything else slide away.   


Soft.   
A kiss.   
Jaina’s breath in her ear.   
“Sylvie,” a whisper, “Wake up. I’m hungry.”   
  
Sylvanas blinked. Focused her eyes. Jaina was looking down at her, amused, as she stroked Sylvanas’s jaw. _I slept?_   
  
Sylvanas cast her gaze about and- _Belore_. The room was still filled with rangers, curled in piles like cats around the room. Nathos across the window seat snoring slightly; Vorel, Lyana and Velonara a heap at the foot of the bed. Sylvanas noted with some satisfaction, Anya and Brisyn tangled by the embers of the hearth, Thandel spooning his lute just behind.   
  
“I would have gone myself,” Jaina kissed her cheek again, “But I don’t think I can actually reach the door without stepping on anyone.”   


Sylvanas nodded. As if this was normal. She was waiting for Jaina to make some comment. Some half joke about the state of the room, something cunning about her rangers. Humans had different standards afterall. Couldn't understand shades of intimacy without sex, didn’t understand the need to be touched- especially when the world labeled you an abomination. 

Jaina said nothing. Just sighed, and fitted herself back along Sylvanas’s side. Then, another whisper,   
“I am relieved to see Brisyn.” She kissed at a fold of bandaged across Sylvanas’s breast.   
Sylvanas rolled, careful not to disturb anyone,“So was Anya.”   
“Ah, I had wondered about that.” Jaina yawned, mumbled it against Sylvanas’s shoulder, “Id have hated to have encouraged her if-”   
“No, I think they were doomed before you had a hand in it.” Sylvanas pushed back the fur and slipped from the bed. Before Jaina could object, she tucked the blanket back around her, and kissed her soundly.   
“Shh, stay here.” she said against her mouth, “I’ll bring you something-” another kiss, and Jaina sighed as she pulled away, “ and for your pet spellbreaker too.”   
Jaina hummed, and snuggled back down into the bed.   
  
  
Sylvanas was as surprised to encounter Mayweather in the stairway as Mayweather was to see Sylvanas. _Is this the guard?_ A strange choice- but Sylvanas considered, all her usual guards were sedated in her own chambers.   
Mayweather had pulled a chair from the inner rooms, and propped it in the center of the landing. Across their lap was a makeshift writing desk, missives and parchments stacked neatly on the floor on either side of them. Within easy reach, a naked blade was propped against the wall, a clear warning.   
  
“Warchief.” Mayweather said crisply, setting aside their desk to stand. They saluted, in the fashion Jaina’s navy was wont to do. A flash. _Jaina’s ring_? 

They looked worn, resolute, and exhausted. Mayweather raised their chin, hands firmly clasped behind their back. A report.   
“I took the liberty of sending Your rangers in, along with the Champion, Brisyn. All others request I’ve turned away. Is there anything else You, or My Lord Admiral requires?” 

  
_Ah._ _Chamberlain_. It didn’t take a genius to know they hadn’t had a full sleep. Probably had stationed themself here before the apothecaries had even started work on Sylvanas. If Sylvanas recalled correctly, Jaina had been planning to promote this one. She hadn’t mentioned a chamberlain though. Sylvanas wasn’t sure what to do with one, or more correctly, what to do with one that belonged to her wife.   
Sylvanas sighed. What was one more mouth? And it would please Jaina, besides.   
“ Stand down.” She flashed a toothy disarming grin, “How do you take your coffee, _Chamberlain_?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the support, and comments. It's honestly really nice and encouraging to see. Please stay safe <3

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written for this fandom, but I've been so greedy with my reading, that it felt like I owed something. Apologies for ooc and grammar errors


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